


A Rough and Tumble Game

by CassidyRocks



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:19:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 85,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassidyRocks/pseuds/CassidyRocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Former professional player, Blaine Anderson is the Head football coach at McKinley High School and, this year, he is completely focused on achieving the title of All State Champions.  However, when local congressman, Burt Hummel, suffers yet another heart attack, his son, Kurt, forfeits his lead role on Broadway to return to Lima where he picks up a teaching position at McKinley in order to be closer to his ailing father.  When football and musicals clash … damage is collateral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kick Off

  **KICK OFF**

_**A kickoff is used at the start of the first and third quarters** _

 

In some respects everything was different and yet, in Kurt Hummel’s opinion ( _humble or not so humble - depending entirely on his mood_ ) nothing had changed at all. The school gymnasium still looked exactly the same as it had when he’d had to enter it as a naive freshman, over a decade ago. Despite the fact that it was a brand new academic year, Kurt noted the tired and old, dog-eared posters, which still declared McKinley’s Titans to be “ _simply_ _the best!_ ” Faded posters which still exhorted the athletes to “ _Go, Fight, Win!”_ and which still announced, somewhat triumphantly, that “ _Titans have the power!_ ” clung in desperate hope to their allotted positions along the back wall between the two sets of metal double swing doors.

As he made his way, somewhat reluctantly, together with the other members of the faculty, towards a row of wooden-backed chairs placed directly in front of the first row of the western bleachers, he noted that the McKinley logo painted onto the wooden floors appeared to have enjoyed a recent renovation.

 _Coach Beiste would be pleased_ , he thought to himself.

The feisty coach, in charge when he had been a student, had fought hard for the renovation of the classical Greek warrior - complete with muscled arm and daring trident, but budget cuts during Principal Figgins’ reign had all but put paid to that particular request. Now though, the strong colours of the black and white mythical god on the floor contrasted boldly with the vibrant red ‘M’ in the centre of his shield.

As Kurt took his place beside one of the few teachers whose face he could vaguely remember from his schooldays – a rather tall, severe-looking woman with an unfortunate haircut, sharp facial features and uncanny ability to look down on absolutely everyone through the reading glasses which perched precariously on the tip of her nose - he glanced up into the stands where the student body was wrestling for comfortable seats for this first assembly of the year. His eyes strayed upward to where a large bolt of thick black fabric in the shape of a shield and trimmed neatly with gold tassels hung, seemingly effortlessly, against the wall.

His breath catching slightly in his throat, quickly but determinedly, Kurt’s eyes raced down the gold embroidered digits seeking out the year _2012_ and then, slower now, they sought out the letters running on the same line naming _Finn Hudson_ as the captain of the football team. For a moment, Kurt’s eyes began to water and he swallowed forcibly but, fortunately, before he could lose his composure altogether, the microphone screeched for everyone’s attention.

“You’d think after all these years someone would have figured out how to use that microphone without the feedback deafening us all,” complained the woman next to him with a tight grimace.

_Mrs Dusenberry!_

His brain finally supplied a name and a fleeting memory of her being quite astonished with the hug Kurt had awarded her when Puck finally passed her exam and, therefore, was allowed to graduate with the rest of them.

Kurt wiped his eyes surreptitiously with the back of his hand balled into fists and nodded in agreement with her as the principal, Mr Williams, called the assembly to order. The student body declared their allegiance to the flag which was still mounted in all its glory along the eastern wall of the gym directly opposite, and in apparent competition with, the larger _McKinley Titans_ banner.

While the students muttered on about “ _one nation under God_ ”, Kurt found himself caught in a bizarre time warp. The discordant sounds of mumbling students around him faded to nothing and he was left alone, on the gym floor, standing squarely on the school logo, on the large M to be exact, dressed in a demure grey suit having just divested himself of a unicorn-like hat complete with pink fluffy tail. Dimly he recalled snatches of his 2012 candidate speech for Senior Class President.

“ _I refuse to be bullied. In fact, I refuse to let anyone be bullied. Let’s send a strong message that violence isn’t okay.”_

There was something else in that speech about banning dodgeball but Kurt couldn’t be too sure of his recollections all these years later. What he did remember was that after his speech, Rachel Berry had withdrawn her candidacy and, instead, had urged everyone to vote for him.

Rachel Berry - Kurt’s arch nemesis, stalwart friend and, until a few weeks ago, New York roommate.

_I’m here, Rach. Can you believe it? I’m actually back at McKinley._

****************************************************************************************************************************************

_“Look, Kurt, Honey; I get that you’re upset but you’re making this decision at a very emotional time and you are going to regret it.”_

_Rachel paced behind Kurt as he lifted his shirts from the hanging wardrobe he shared with her and laid them out on the neatly-made bed beside his suitcase._

_“I’ll regret it even more if I don’t go, Rachel,” he replied, resolutely not meeting her eyes._

_“But Carole said, explicitly, for you not to worry and that she would keep you updated throughout the night. She’ll let you know as soon as he wakes up.”_

_“Rachel – it’s my dad.”_

_Kurt stood back from the bed and surveyed the items lying there. His eyes swept his room, or rather his curtained section of their loft, for clothing he might have missed in his haste to pack immediately._

_“I know, Sweetie. I really do but -”_

_“But, nothing! I’ve got to get home! Now can you please call that travel agent friend of yours and get me on the first flight back to Ohio this evening?”_

_“What about the show, Kurt? What are you going to do about your show? You know … the Broadway show Cameron wrote just for you because you complained that there was nothing, and I quote, ‘nothing out there on the Great White Way’ for your voice and range? Are you just going to bail on him … on the cast?”_

_“Rachel!” Kurt was stunned at her accusatory tone. “You of all people don’t get to lecture me for leaving a Broadway show for a family emergency when you did it yourself just for a shot at false, glitzy Hollywood fame and we all know where that got you!”_

_“Yes, but I learned my lesson, Kurt, and you should learn from my mistake!” Rachel’s voice was raised in righteous indignation but then she continued quieter, her voice strained with genuine concern for her friend. “If you walk out on this show – your show – chances are, Broadway might never forgive you.”_

_For just a moment, Kurt stopped packing and looked up at her, his eyes swimming with tears as he acknowledged her concern for the first time that evening. His hand over his heart, Kurt replied softly._

_“That might be so, Rachel, but if I turn my back on my dad now when he needs me the most, I know I will never forgive me.” _

_“Kurt … it’s your dream, your future. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.”_

_“Rachel – it’s my dad.”_

_Kurt closed the lid of his suitcase and pulled the zippers towards each other with a finality that forbade any further discussion._

*****************************************************************************************************************************

“…and we welcome several new members of faculty this year.”

The principal’s voice, still competing with the scratching of the microphone which was providing ear-piercing feedback, brought Kurt guiltily out of his recollection of his last conversation with Rachel in their New York apartment.

One by one, the principal announced the name of each new faculty member as they, somewhat embarrassed, each, in turn, stood up and greeted the student body. Kurt was well aware that the applause given by the students was polite but laced with boredom at the formal proceedings of the assembly because there was a slight lazy edge to their clapping. If these students were anything like the student body in his time, they wanted to get to the fun part of the first assembly of the new-year – that moment when the McKinley Titans would be brought out and introduced to the student body as the _heroes_ they supposedly were. Kurt caught the definite trace of sarcastic cynicism on the edge of that particular thought. He shook his head, willing away all negative thoughts.

_No, Kurt Hummel. You are not going to let your ‘jockphobia’ destroy your chances of making a success of this opportunity, Kurt. Let it go!_

“And finally, we are exceptionally pleased to welcome to our staff an alumnus of McKinley’s class of 2012 – Mr Kurt Hummel, who is returning to teach a couple of English classes. But, more importantly, because Mr Hummel comes to us straight off the Broadway stage where he was performing in a lead role until just recently, he will be resurrecting the Glee Club which he tells me actually won Nationals in his senior year.”

Kurt blushed as Mr William’s gaze sought him out among the faculty and then continued to address him solely. “Mr Hummel, we also look forward to the expertise your stage background and theatre education will bring our musical this year. We are honoured by your presence.”

Kurt stood up, smiled respectfully at the effusive Mr Williams and then turned around to offer a quick, perfunctory wave to the students sitting on the bleachers behind the faculty before politely acknowledging those sitting on the stands directly opposite.

“Broadway, huh? Well, welcome to this – the 9th circle of hell,” muttered Mrs Dusenberry as he took his place again.

“And now …that moment you have been waiting for …”

The principal had raised his voice now and, despite fighting the incessant shrill feedback from the microphone, he seemed genuinely thrilled to be making the next announcement. Over the frenzied clapping and cheering of the student body, Principal Williams yelled once more.

“William McKinley High School, I give you … YOUR McKinley Titans!”

As one, the student body rose from their seats, their feet pounding enthusiastically on the metal bleachers. Loud music was blasted through the speakers and the lights in the gymnasium went out.

 


	2. False Start

**FALSE START**

_**Movement taken by an offensive player after he has taken a set position.** _

 

“Come on! Coach, seriously? How long is this still going to take?”

“Quit whining, Haydn and take your place.” Quietly and without any heat, Blaine scolded his quarterback and captain of the football team as he strained to listen to the principal’s words.

Both the cheer squad and athletic team were waiting in the corridor outside the gymnasium for Principal Williams to give them their cue to burst through the double doors and launch the football season at the first assembly of the academic year. Blaine felt like he was currently single-handedly trying to rein in several thoroughbred racehorses, each chomping at the bit, eager at the start to get out there and perform as they were born to do.

Over the heads of the teenagers around him, he looked across at the cheer squad’s coach who was rolling her eyes at whatever gossip her captain was whispering in her ear. Mid-roll, she caught Blaine’s eye and winked, bringing her right hand up to her ear and imitating the yapping of a noisy puppy. Blaine smiled.

He and the McKinley head cheer coach, a tall, dark, sultry Latino who was around the same age as him got on famously for which he was more than grateful. Many a high school football coach had ended his contract earlier than expected over endless bloodless but, nevertheless, deadly skirmishes with the head cheer coach. Blaine knew this because he religiously read the online athletic blogs and sympathised with his counterparts around the country who had fallen victim to the very ambitious, cut-throat cheer coaches who would as easily slash your throat with a smile as hoist you up and toss you from the top of their pyramid.

At first, Santana had circled Blaine for a few weeks like a shark will do around a lifeboat full of helpless sailors – waiting for an opportunity – any opportunity. Blaine, in awe of her squad’s national championship record and because he had graduated from Dalton Academy complete with the finest set of manners lots of money could buy, was nothing but a perfect gentleman around her. Soon, and unsurprisingly because of her “ _psychic_ _Mexican third eye,_ ” Santana was able to detect the unspoken yet deep-seated need of his to prove his worth. So, as he began to develop and train a team worthy of her award-winning cheers, she began to thaw in his favour eventually persuading him to join her for a meal at _Breadstix_ after a third consecutive win in his first year at McKinley.

******************************************************************************************************************

_“So tell me, hobbit,” she asked as she snapped a stale breadstick between her long fingers. “What’s a nice boy like you doing in a Loserville-Lima?”_

_Blaine laughed and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “And what makes you think I’m a nice boy, Ms Lopez?” he asked._

_“Please,” she guffawed, “dressed like that...” and she gestured with her breadstick to his bowtie peeking out from underneath the V-neck sweater he was wearing. “Anyone can see you are just the sweetest little cupcake out there.”_

_“I think I’ll take that as a compliment, then,” Blaine smiled politely and raised his glass in her direction before taking a sip._

_“And you should, my dear hobbit – you should,” Santana replied sardonically. “But seriously, you can tell Auntie ‘Tana.” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, “What in the name of all that is actually unholy are you doing here?”_

_“Santana? Is that you? and … Blaine?”_

_Blaine was given a reprieve from answering Santana’s particular version of the Spanish Inquisition as his assistant coach, Sam Evans, walked towards their table._

_“It is you!” he exclaimed happily and slid comfortably into the vacant booth seat beside Blaine opposite Santana. “You didn’t mention you were coming here after the game tonight, Boss,” he grinned cheerfully at Blaine._

_Blaine shook his head. “No, I didn’t realize it either. I was headed home after I said goodnight to you, Sam but then Santana …” He would have continued but she interrupted him._

_“I accosted him in the parking lot and got the hobbit to agree to have a late dinner with me which you are now interrupting, Sam Evans, so why don’t you take your trouty mouth to some other table and bug them, would ya?”_

_Blaine was aghast at her rudeness. “Santana!” he reprimanded._

_“Nah, Boss, forget it. This gorgeous gal and I go way back and nothing she says could possibly offend me at all. Besides, Auntie Snix, I know this isn’t a date because you don’t date boys, or has that changed again?”_

_Blaine’s open mouth closed quickly when the ringing of his phone interrupted the two at swordplay across the table. Pulling it towards him from where it lay between Sam and Santana, he gestured to Sam to allow him to slide out of the booth._

_“It’s my friend Nick. I’ll just take this outside,” he explained and left the two alone at the table._

_“Please Sam, for this to have been a date, Blaine and I would both have to have been somebody else. It’s as plain as daylight that the hobbit wouldn’t be interested in me. He’s as gay as a …”_

_“Please don’t say two-dollar bill,” Sam pleaded. “It’s so clichéd.”_

_Santana cocked her head to the side and regarded Sam. Then she smiled wickedly, “Fourth of July?”_

_“No!” the blonde shook his head. “That’s worse Santana.”_

_“Yeah, you’re right but what I really wanted to know was what he’s doing here, in Lima of all places.”_

_“Santana, do you even know who Blaine Anderson is?” asked Sam curiously. “Or was?” he amended quietly._

_“Well, duh, Surfer Boy Wonder Model, that’s kinda why I asked him to dinner so I could find out from the horse’s mouth itself.”_

_“ ‘Tana, I don’t think that’s something you should go around asking Blaine. Rather, wait for him to volunteer the information,” Sam suggested wisely._

_“What? Wait, what does that even mean? I can’t ask him stuff?” Santana was perplexed and even more intrigued._

_“I’m just saying I think you should let your friendship develop a little first before you interrogate him for the personal details of his life. Not everyone is willing to spill their darkest, deepest secret to the first person who is kind enough to buy them dinner.”_

***********************************************************************************************************************

Blaine had his ear to the metal door trying to make out Principal William’s words. He knew that the beginning of the cheer squad’s music would be their cue first and his team would follow after but he was curious to know what was taking the principal so long. There were only three new teachers he needed to introduce so what could be the holdup?

Shushing the teens closest to him yet again, he leaned still closer to the door and heard the muffled sounds of the words: “Broadway”, “Glee Club” and “musical” before the student body applauded the newcomer. The microphone screeched once more.

“For the love of heaven does nobody in this school know how to use a microphone properly?” complained Wolf – the transfer student from Germany with the unfortunate birth name of Wolfgang which only Blaine and school administrators knew as he refused to answer to anything other than Wolf.

“Shut up!” commanded Haydn. “This is us! Listen up!”

As the music exploded from the speakers and the student body began to beat their feet in time on the bleachers, Santana and Blaine threw open the double doors and the twenty-five strong cheer squad ran into the auditorium to take up their places on the polished floor. The lights in the auditorium came back on as the music changed to the squad’s new routine music. Although Blaine had caught the tail-end of several of their pre-season training sessions during the last two weeks of the summer break, this would be the first time he would watch their entire sequence from start to finish.

 _It’s good!_ Blaine thought. _No doubt Santana will bitch and moan about some petty things and several girls will be in tears after the assembly, but it’s good; really good._

The football team hung back with Blaine until a given moment in the cheer squad’s sequence when they formed a guard of honour and Blaine sent the athletes to run through it as pre-arranged. Blaine didn’t think it was possible but the noise in the auditorium grew still louder until it became a deafening, thunderous roar of approval. The student body was wild with excitement and the cheers for his team were long and raucous.

After a while, up on the small podium, Haydn held up his hand and in a few moments, the auditorium quietened down. Into the silence, the captain of the McKinley Titans bellowed, “COACH ANDERSON!” and the students’ voluble stamping and cheering resumed as Blaine made his own way through the cheerio guard of honour, stopping briefly at the end of the tunnel to hug Santana and shake the hand of the principal before stepping up to the microphone.

Kurt couldn’t breathe; quite literally, he could not inhale the much-needed breath. The moment was too much. Too many memories, too many ghosts from the past, too many emotions were crashing in on him, wave after relentless wave. The noise of the music from the speakers and the noise the students were making on the bleachers – it was all too much and he found he was gasping for air.

_Oh great! I’m having a panic attack, on my first day, in front of the entire school. How mortifying!_

Kurt found the impending humiliation was a great incentive to try to get his breathing under control.

_Slowly! Count to ten, slowly._

He forced his brain to work with him just as Cameron had taught him back in New York _._

_One… two … three ... Yes, that’s it. Keep going, Kurt. Ignore those frenetic cheers. … four… five …_

“I’m just going to move this microphone back ever so slightly so you can all hear me without the feedback deafening your eardrums,” Blaine announced to the student body as he picked up the stand and moved behind the speakers, effectively eliminating the feedback loop. The student body sighed collectively at the immediate relief from the infernal screech.

Kurt was finding it unnecessary to continue to count to calm his erratic breathing because the warm, rich and melodious voice of McKinley’s head football coach spoke calmly into the microphone, unknowingly, successfully managing to soothe Kurt’s rising internal panic.

“Thank you for your warm response this morning. It means a lot to the boys and me and, I dare say, to Coach Santana and her team too.”

Kurt looked up in startled amazement and followed Blaine’s hand gesture across the gymnasium towards the back doors to where, none other than his old classmate, Santana Lopez, stood acknowledging Blaine’s comment with a brief nod of her head and an undefined expression on her face.

“No shit!” exclaimed Kurt under his breath which had now returned to his chest in generous amounts but which, in turn, earned him a fast and fierce glare from his neighbour.

“Sorry, Mrs Dusenberry,” he apologised in a whisper, “but how long has Santana been the cheer squad coach here?”

The woman beside him pursed her lips as she tried to remember. “The years all seem to fade into one after a while. She’d been here a couple of years before this new coach arrived and this will be his fourth year.”

The head coach’s voice captured Kurt’s attention once more so he stored Santana’s information away for later.

“Three years ago, when I accepted the position of head coach, I explained that we would have a five-year goal. Each year since, we’ve been steadily gaining ground – quicker than even I had hoped. That first year - we were regional champs, the second year - we made it to the State semi-finals and last year, we were only narrowly beaten at the State Championship finals. We are ahead of our projected target by a whole year and so it is with all confidence that I can stand here before you today and declare, without a shadow of a doubt, that this year … this year is _ours_ McKinley! This year we will go all the way to the finals of the State Championships and we will not rest until we return with the trophy _and_ the title.”

The auditorium erupted again with rapturous applause and even the teachers stood up with the student body in recognition of the zealous fervour and optimistic spirit from the diminutive coach on the raised platform.

“Who is this man?” asked Kurt of Mrs Dusenberry, not minding that he had to shout at her in order to be heard.

“Blaine Anderson!” she shouted back with a silly grin on her face. “He used to play for the New England Patriots before he came here. Best thing ever to happen to William McKinley High School!

By holding up his hand in a simple appeal for silence, Blaine signalled for the room to be quiet and Kurt was astounded at his total command of the room.

 _Shit, but the man’s got stage presence,_ he marvelled.

 _And that’s not all he’s got_.

Now that the oxygen was flowing again, Kurt’s mind seemed to be on a fast track to disaster.

 _He’s gorgeous! Look at those cute curls and the shit-eating grin on his face as he promises these mere mortals the absolute world_.

 _Would you stop?_ Kurt remonstrated with his inner monologue. _He’s the Head Football Coach - they don’t get much straighter than that. I’m done crushing on football players remember? Especially straight ones. Just gets my heart broken._

Kurt’s face clouded over as memories of Finn flooded his mind.

_Finn: wheeling Artie onto the stage, apologising for being a jerk and declaring that being a part of Glee club was where he wanted to be._

On stage, Blaine’s delighted eyes swept over the student body and faculty as he began his final declaration.

“If ever they tell my story …”

_Finn: arriving at their first Sectional’s competition with sheet music and a plan._

“…let them say I walked with giants.”

_Finn: declaring their newly-decorated shared bedroom to be “freaking insane.”_

“Men rise and fall like the winter wheat…”

_Finn: dressed in an obscenely red dress made from an old shower curtain, standing up for him against Karofsky during Gaga Week._

“…but these names will never die.”

_Finn: dancing with and singing to him in front of everyone at their parents’ wedding reception._

“Let them say I lived in the time of Hector…”

_Finn’s coffin being lowered into his grave on a rainy afternoon._

“Let them say I lived in the time of Achilles!”

As the gymnasium occupants exploded from their seats once more, Kurt could no longer contain his pent up emotions and he allowed the audible dry sob to escape. Around him the faculty members were clapping and turning around to watch the students’ antics as they cheered and hollered their support.

Trying desperately to gain some control, Kurt brought his right hand up to his mouth to contain the next sob that threatened to break free and his left hand clutched at the physical pain in his stomach.

Somehow, in the midst of all the jubilation in the gymnasium, Blaine caught _that_ particular movement and his alert, hazel eyes landed on the unfamiliar slight figure in the first row among the more well-known faculty faces. The noise in the room muted for a moment as Blaine’s gaze zeroed in on the tall, handsome man with elfin-like facial features. Blaine swallowed visibly as he tried to rein in the rush of feelings he experienced as he watched the mysterious man deal with his own, very obvious, onslaught of emotions.

 _Wow_ , thought Blaine, _that newcomer sure must love high school football_! And he smiled cheerfully at the young man who happened to glance furtively around the room at that moment, his eyes landing carelessly on Blaine’s Cheshire-cat grin.

However, Blaine’s grin fell abruptly from his face as the stranger stared long and hard at him and then, with a definite glare, turned forcibly on his heel and walked out of the gymnasium, head held high but shoulders stiff and unyielding.

Up on the platform, surrounded by a euphoric team, in front of an ecstatic crowd, Blaine was left wondering, _What in the hell was that_?

 

 

 

 


	3. Snap

**Snap**

**_The action in which the ball is hiked by the center to the quarterback;_**

**_when the snap occurs, the ball is officially in play and action begins._ **

 

“I can’t do it, ‘Cedes. I really thought I could but I just can’t. It’s too much. I’m really not strong enough.”

Kurt’s voice trembled with pent-up emotion over the phone as he leaned forward on his elbows which rested on the desk in what was now officially his own office – the one adjacent to the all-too familiar choir room.

“Boo, we talked about this, remember?”

Mercedes Jones’s strong, calm voice came through clearly down the phone-line and immediately sought out Kurt’s shattered nerves to stroke, to soothe and to comfort.

“I know, but maybe Rachel was right. Maybe I have made the biggest mistake of my life, _again_.”

“Ah, hell no, honey. This isn’t a mistake. _This_ is an adjustment and it’s huge and you shouldn’t even try to negate what you’re feeling right now. This first day at school is bound to wring you out emotionally, spin you around and toss you back in your car this afternoon wondering what in heaven’s name just happened.”

“Cedes, you’re such a good friend and I really appreciate you but -” Kurt tried again to explain.

“But, nothing, Boo. This is a great opportunity for you to be close to your dad just like you wanted and also for you still to use your God-given talent to inspire others to - ”

“To what?” Kurt interrupted harshly. “To pursue their childhood dreams and then toss them away the moment they achieve them?”

Mercedes recognised the disappointed bitter tone in Kurt’s interjection.

“Honey – this is exactly why I had you draw up that list on the plane when you flew back to Ohio the night after your dad’s heart attack. I told you then to write down a ‘Pros and Cons’ list for your decision to return to Lima and to keep it close to you at all times. Where is it now, Boo?”

“It’s in my wallet, ‘Cedes,” conceded Kurt. “But I don’t think - ”

“No, that’s just it, Kurt - don’t think now,” Mercedes countered. “Just feel; but, do me a favour, would you? When we’ve said goodbye in a minute because I need to get to hair and make-up for this ridiculous video shoot – promise me that when we’ve stopped talking, you will take out that list and re-read what you wrote. Remind yourself why you are currently sitting at what was Mr Scheuster’s desk in the choir room of our old high school instead of your dressing room at the Lyceum Theatre on 45th Street!”

“Okay,” relented Kurt tiredly, “I promise, ‘Cedes. Thank you.”

“My pleasure honey, but I must run. Love you to the moon and back, boy – always!”

Kurt put down the telephone thoughtfully and, now that he’d had a chance to catch his breath and find some equilibrium to his emotions thanks to his conversation with Mercedes in Los Angeles, he looked carefully around the small space that would serve as his office for the foreseeable future.

Unbidden, an old memory of a conversation taking place in this exact room surfaced but he was sitting on the opposite side of the desk having been brought into the office by his Glee coach who had found him slumped against the lockers in the corridor outside. Kurt remembered the man offering him water and advice – such as it was. He looked now at the empty chair in front of the desk and remembered sitting there, sipping the water and chastising Will Scheuster for being like “ _many others at the school who are too quick to let homophobia slide.”_

Nothing much had changed in that small space since he’d left the school after graduation. On the wall behind the desk, an empty pin-board awaited Kurt’s exciting notices and important reminders. Opposite the desk, stood a tall and grey, steel filing cabinet which Kurt knew to be crammed full of sheet music dating way back to Glee founder, Lillian Adler’s time. The plant above the cabinet looked about as dead as the one that had been there when this was Will’s office. Kurt wondered cynically if it was the same plant.

 _The tall standing lamp beside the cabinet will definitely need to be tossed or at the very least redecorated,_ thought Kurt idly.

Through the glass windows to his left, Kurt could see that the corridor outside was bereft of students as they had, by now, all made their way to their second period classes. Kurt didn’t have lessons with his freshman class until after lunch so he was alone in his office with his thoughts and fears. In his head, he could hear Mercedes’ voice. “ _Promise me that when we’ve stopped talking, you will take out that list and reread what you wrote.”_

“Alright ‘Cedes, alright,” Kurt spoke out loud into the quiet of the room and then chuckled as his voice startled himself. He dug around in his messenger bag for his wallet and pulled out a scrap of paper. In a misguided attempt, Rachel had tried to enlist Mercedes’ help in dissuading Kurt from his decision to leave his show for good and return immediately to Lima to be at his father’s hospital bed. Mercedes hadn’t done what Rachel had asked much to the latter’s frustration; instead she’d instructed Kurt to write a list of reasons for making his decision.

“Because there _will_ come a time when you _do_ regret it, Kurt,” she promised. “And when those times come, you will need something tangible to help you through the process of remembering why it seemed like a good idea at the time. This list will help you, Boo. I promise.”

Carefully, Kurt unfolded the paper and smoothed the wrinkled edges as he looked down at his handwritten scrawl:

**I’m going back to Lima because:**

**1\. My dad has had a second heart attack and might not survive. I want to be there beside him, holding his hand if I have to say Goodbye.**

**2\. If my dad survives this and I get more time with him, I don’t want to be living in a different state. I want to be close enough to see him every day.**

**3\. When the time comes, I could always return to the stage and if Broadway doesn’t want me back, there are plenty of other theatres around the country that might have me. And even if they don’t, at least I’ll be able to say I once had a lead on a Broadway Show – I’ve realised my dream.**

**4\. Dreams change and right now I want to be with my dad for as long as he has left with Carole and me.**

 

“Funny, I always thought one day it would be Finn sitting in _that_ chair behind _that_ desk; never you, Lady Hummel. Almost didn’t believe Trouty Mouth when he told me the news.”

Startled at the sudden voice, Kurt dropped his piece of paper onto the desk and looked up at the impressive, dominating presence of Santana Lopez standing with her body wrapped half in and half out of the doorway leading into his office.

“Santana!” he squeaked in surprised delight and stood up to meet her midway as she entered the room with her arms wide open to take him into a hug. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard your name mentioned this morning.”

“Yep – it’s me in the flesh! Here I am at good old McKinley High School, Lima, Ohio and have been for several years now too!” Santana slapped at Kurt’s chest in reprimand, “which you would have known if you’d bothered to keep in touch with any of us on FaceBook.”

“I’m sorry ‘Tana. I truly am but it’s just been … well, it’s been…”

“No, no, I get it,” interjected Santana. “You and Berry made New York your home in a way that Sam and I couldn’t. You had absolutely no need for Lima or its inhabitants again. In fact, I don’t think either one of you has been back since the week we all returned for Finn’s memorial.”

“It wasn’t that we didn’t want to see you guys, Santana,” feebly, Kurt tried to explain. “NYADA kept us both very busy and after we graduated it was even harder to get away from the theatres that employed us.”

“Yeah, and I could understand your dad and Carole would prefer to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays with you in New York or in Washington rather than here – I totally get it.” Santana sounded almost forgiving but Kurt’s face fell at the mention of his dad.

“I was sorry to hear of his second heart attack, Kurt. How’s he doing?” Santana’s voice was soft and compassionate and Kurt was having a hard time reconciling the Santana of his high school memories with the woman standing in front of him now.

“Much better now, thanks,” he replied. “This time round he was only in a coma for a week but the doctors kept him in hospital much longer to recuperate before sending him home. He’s on strict bed rest orders still. So I’ve spent the last two weeks hiring and training a manager for the garage and outsourcing the administration to a freelance company that specialises in all that.”

“Are you staying at home or have you found a place of your own?” she wanted to know.

“I’m at home, in my old bedroom. I just want to be there for him as much as possible, you know.”

“Yeah, I get that and I heard that you sacrificed a huge Broadway role to do that but how the hell did you land _this_ gig, then?”

“Ha! Um … funny story that, actually.” Kurt gestured for Santana to take a seat as he leaned against the desk beside her. “Principal Williams’ ten-year old son was brought into Carole’s ER with a ruptured appendix and, after all the trauma of the emergency operation, she got chatting to him and his wife. My name came up and Peter Williams put me and Broadway together and came up with a “New Deal” for McKinley’s flagging Glee Club and Musical Drama Department. And, well, here I am.”

Kurt held up his hands shoulder height. “And I don’t have the faintest idea what I’m doing,” he confessed. “How about you?”

Santana laughed, “Me? Hell if I know what I’m doing either! But, after New York was a total bust and Dani broke up with me, I bummed around the country for a bit, catching up with Britney every now and again when I followed her, like an idiot, from one dance concert to the next until, eventually, I decided it was all bullshit anyway and came back here to regroup. I watched a couple of cheer competitions and decided McKinley’s cheer squad needed me and I‘ve been here ever since. Have five national championship titles under my belt already,” she declared proudly.

“Wow! I am impressed. That’s fantastic. Do you still live at home, then as well?”

Santana grimaced and screwed her nose up. “No, no way. I couldn’t go back to living with my _abuela_ in the house.” Kurt vaguely remembered Santana’s _abuela_ couldn’t ( _or_ wouldn’t) accept her granddaughter’s sexuality. “No, I share an apartment in town with Blaine.”

“Blaine?”

“Yeah – the head football coach. Surely you noticed him this morning? It would’ve been hard to miss him, Kurt.” Santana winked at him and her lips curled up in a smirk.

The ringing of the school bell interrupted whatever reply Kurt was trying to formulate in response to the fact that he had most definitely noticed a certain Blaine Anderson this morning but would never admit that fact to Santana.

“I gotta go,” Santana announced, getting up from the chair. “It was great to touch base with you, Kurt. We should get together and have a proper catch up soon, maybe with Sam as well. You can spill the dirt on Berry’s bullshit and I can introduce you to Blaine.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks ‘Tana. That would be great, yeah,” Kurt nodded, his head still reeling from Santana’s revelations.

“Later, Lady Hummel,” Santana began to head out of the door.

“Santana!” Kurt’s urgent call stopped her in her tracks and she turned back, her eyebrows raised in question.

“How … Can I ask this…?” Kurt swallowed the knot in his throat and tried again. “How do you…? How long does it take before...?”

“It doesn’t,” Santana replied quietly, seeming to know exactly where Kurt’s fumbling questioning was headed. “The ghosts are always here. In time, you get used to their presence and eventually it’s actually quite comforting.” She smiled warmly at him and walked away.

Kurt sat down at his desk pulled out his phone and sent a message to Mercedes.

**[Kurt] Okay ‘Cedes, I got this!**

**********************************************************************************************************************

Blaine found Sam in the locker room pumping footballs to maximum weight.

“Hey, Boss,” grinned the blonde-haired assistant coach as Blaine approached the bench he was straddling. “That was some kickass assembly launch, huh? Loved your speech about walking with giants. That was pretty cool but who’s Hector and Achilles? You forget your quarterback and running back’s names already?”

Blaine laughed in appreciation of Sam’s warped sense of humour. In the three years that they’d worked together, they had managed to develop a close professional relationship on the field and a strong bond of relaxed friendship united them off the field.

When he first arrived at McKinley, Blaine had been concerned that Sam would think he had been unfairly overlooked as head coach for his alma mater but, fortunately for Blaine, Sam held no such grudge and deferred to the more experienced player immediately. He was happy to assist Blaine in whatever way he could and Blaine could not have asked for a more efficient and effective assistant coach.

Because they functioned as a well-oiled team, their athletes knew never to try to blindside either one or to manipulate the one against the other. It simply wouldn’t work. Sam was fully ensconced in Blaine’s corner and would come out fighting, whenever and if ever, the bell rang.

“I’ve always loved that speech of _Odysseus_ and I thought it was fitting for today,” replied Blaine.

Sam nodded. “And the kids seemed to eat it up too. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the gym that noisy.”

“Not even when _you_ were the quarterback, Sam Evans?” teased Blaine. Sam laughed and threw a ball at Blaine who caught it deftly in his sure hands and moved to place it in the ball net beneath the whiteboard. He turned around to Sam thoughtfully.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you by any chance manage to catch a glimpse of any of the new faculty members this morning before the team entered? Peter said something to me yesterday about there being three new teachers to introduce – two ladies and a guy.”

“Oh, yeah. No, I didn’t get to meet any of the chicks yet and I already know who the guy is.”

“Oh, you do?” Blaine asked surprised, “How so?”

“Yeah, it’s Kurt. He graduated from here a year ahead of me.”

“Is he …um …” Blaine tripped over his question. “He a tall, brunette with ..um … quite sharp facial features by any chance? ”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” confirmed Sam. “Kurt Hummel. Dresses impeccably. He and Santana graduated the same year.”

“Hummel?” Blaine queried. “As in Congressman Hummel’s son?”

“Yeah, that’s him. You ever heard of him? Was a big name on Broadway but we actually haven’t spoken in years. He kinda …”

The outer door flew open and, because the hinge was broken, it slammed against the wall with a frightful noise jolting both men from their conversation.

“Blaine! Sam! You two in here?” Santana yelled as she came striding confidently into the locker room.

“Santana!” bellowed Sam in annoyance more at the fright she’d given him than her actual presence. “It’s the men’s locker room!” He picked up the ball he’d dropped.

“Really?” smirked Santana looking around obviously searching for something, “so where are the men then, Trouty Mouth?”

“What can we do for you, Santana?” Blaine intervened effortlessly before there could be an escalation of hostilities. The three of them had been doing this particular dance for several years now and Blaine was well-versed in his role as peace-keeper. “Hey, well done on this morning’s routine. The squad looked fantastic.”

Santana glared at him unbelievingly. “Just don’t tell them that whatever you do!” she implored.

“What’s up, Sandbags?” asked Sam looking up at her from his seated position on the bench. Santana walked towards him and sat down next to him, patting his thigh as she got comfortable.

“I just came from the choir room,” she answered. “It’s so freaking weird to see Kurt sitting behind Mr Schue’s old desk. Like really weird. Anyway, I told him we’d try to get together sometime and play catch up and maybe introduce him to the hobbit over here.”

“Santana this week’s a - ” Sam started to protest not noticing Blaine’s eyes which widened in definite interest.

“Yeah, I get it,” she interrupted. “This week’s a total bitch; don’t I know it? But I thought that maybe I could persuade him to come to the game on Friday night and then afterwards we could get a bite to eat together somewhere – the four of us?”

“You’re going to try to get Kurt Hummel to come to a football game?” Sam scoffed. “Yeah, good luck with that one.” Blaine was intrigued with Sam’s incredulous tone.

“Why would he not come to the game?” he asked curiously but Sam ignored his question; instead he addressed Santana again.

“Santana, do you even remember Kurt Hummel at all?”

“Why would he not come to the game?” Blaine was puzzled that there was anyone on the planet who would not consider coming to a football game. “It’s the first game of the season,” he pointed out, somewhat unnecessarily.

“Trust me, Blaine,” replied Sam. “When you meet him, you’ll understand. Football’s just not his thing.”

 _Ah,_ thought Blaine _. Not his thing. That might actually explain his strange and peculiar reaction to this morning’s football launch in assembly_.

Blaine couldn’t forget the stone-cold glare he had received from the man he now knew to be Kurt Hummel. The pained expression on his face and the manner in which he had held his hand around his waist, as if he were in physical pain, were indelibly imprinted on Blaine’s memory.

“Rubbish, he’ll be there,” declared Santana confidently. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“And just how do you propose to do that?” challenged Sam with a glint in his eye.

“Well, Kurt might not love football,” Santana said with a wink, “but he loves scarves!”

***********************************************************************************************************************

“No Kurt, I absolutely insist,” Carole’s tone was firmly adamant with her stepson. “Leave the supper preparation to me and go get ready. I think it’s lovely that Santana invited you to tonight’s game. The first one of the season … ” Carole closed her eyes briefly and smiled warmly, obviously with a happy memory in mind.

“There’s always such a great atmosphere at the first match. It’ll be good for you to get out and mix with others your own age for a change instead of being cooped up here with your father and me,” she continued.

“But it’s Friday night, Carole – that’s sacred family dinner night,” Kurt tried protesting.

“Kurt, Sweetie – _every_ night since you’ve been home has been a family night dinner. No, go on, scoot! Get out of here. I’ll take a tray up to your dad and we’ll have a picnic on the bed. Out! Out!” Carole flicked the dish cloth at him and laughingly shooed Kurt out of the kitchen.

An hour later, freshly showered and dressed, he knocked quietly on the open door to his dad’s bedroom and popped his head in.

“Hey, kiddo,” his dad greeted him softly. “Carole says you’re heading out to the game.”

Burt was sitting up in bed, his reading glasses on and a newspaper resting in his lap. He smiled cheerfully as Kurt came into the room, dressed in a tight pair of green camo jeans and warm sweater.

“Yeah, well, apparently Santana is still the tour de force she was in high school,” replied Kurt as he wrapped a burgundy scarf around his neck.

“Nice scarf,” commented Carole as she entered the room with a tray. “Is it new?”

“Yeah, and apparently I’m not immune to bribes either,” Kurt replied guiltily.

“Hey, it’s good that you’re getting out this evening. You’ve had a busy week with all those Glee auditions,” Burt offered from the bed.

“Oh, did you finally make some decisions about that, Kurt,” asked Carole as she fussed over Burt, moving the newspaper and setting the tray more comfortably on his lap.

“Yeah, they’re not the strongest voices but at least it’s something for me to work with and hopefully in a week’s time we’ll have something to present at assembly which might encourage others to join too.”

“You’re going to do great work there, Kiddo. I’m proud of you. Now go and have a great time tonight.” Burt’s praise meant the world to Kurt and he leaned over to kiss his dad on the top of his bald head.

“Thanks, Dad,” he whispered fondly. “I won’t be home too late and my phone will be on all the time if you need me.”

“Go Kurt, have fun and come home really late!” smiled Carole.

Half an hour later, Kurt pulled into a free parking space, grateful that the teachers’ parking apparently was reserved just for them on nights such as these when parents and students alike poured like homing honey bees onto the school grounds. Kurt couldn’t remember such crowds at a McKinley game when he had attended school there. Clearly the team had become quite popular over the past few years.

As Kurt approached the field, Santana broke away from the huddle of cheerleaders and came over to greet him.

“Lady Hummel! You came!”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” retorted Kurt tartly.

“Well, you missed the first two quarters so I thought you’d changed your mind. But, fortunately, you’re just in time to see my squad perform at halftime. Here, sit here.”

Kurt started to chuckle when Santana gestured to a seat beside one that was an exact replica of a director- style chair, complete with the name “Santana Lopez” emblazoned in gold letters across the back rest. Gingerly, he took the seat she offered and watched as her squad took to the field and executed a daring and complicated routine while managing at the same time to make it look simply effortless.

He applauded enthusiastically along with the hundreds in the stands as her squad came off the field and the opposing football teams took up their positions once more. Laughing in satisfied pleasure, Santana came to sit down next to him. As they watched the ball fly through the air in play for the third quarter, Santana reached over and took Kurt’s hand in hers.

“I miss him so much but on nights like this, I feel him the closest and it’s sorta comforting, you know?” she spoke quietly, without looking at him at all.

Kurt stared at their hands in surprise and then flicked his attention to the game. It was only when Santana yanked him to his feet and pulled him into a squealing celebratory hug that Kurt realised he hadn’t actually been watching the game at all; instead he had been lost in his own memories of Finn and high school football. Out on the field, the victory was evident - the McKinley Titans had won the first game of the season and the spectators on the bleachers were thrilled.

“Come on,” Santana said eventually, having dismissed her squad with quick instructions for practice over the weekend. “Let’s go find Sam and Blaine.”

They walked across the field to where the Titans were huddled in a group. Kurt could see Sam’s tall, lanky frame and shock of blonde hair among the dirty, weary players but he couldn’t see the head coach anywhere. It was only as the huddle broke and the victorious players began to disperse that Kurt saw the man of the hour emerge, triumphant, from the centre.

“Blaine!” called Santana, “Sam!”

Both men looked up in the direction of Santana’s voice and Sam’s face broke into a wide smile as he recognised Kurt standing beside her. Blaine blinked in the light of the stadium’s lights as he watched Kurt, hands buried firmly in his pockets, walk slowly alongside Santana towards them.

 _Wow, he’s gorgeous_ , Blaine shook his head at the reckless and possibly inappropriate thought.

“Kurt! Dude, what’s up?” called Sam, stepping forward to grab Kurt’s hand to shake it. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“Blaine!” Santana called for the coach’s attention again as Sam relinquished his grasp on Kurt’s hand who fussed with his shirt which had pulled loose, but Blaine was transfixed on the newcomer and didn’t appear to hear her.

“Blaine!” Santana called again, only this time a little louder. “This is Kurt Hummel.”

Blaine reached out his hand and would have also stepped forward to shake Kurt’s hand had he not, at that very moment, been grabbed from behind by someone bellowing his name.

“Blaine! Blainers, my boy!”

Kurt watched aghast as some tall stranger spun Blaine around to face him.

“Bloody hell, Killer! I’ve missed you!” He grabbed Blaine’s face between his hands and pulled him into a kiss.

Not a _light-friendly–I’ve-missed-you_ quick peck on the cheek; no, it was a deep, passionate _Hot-Damn-I’ve-really-missed-you_ kind of kiss and Kurt could see Blaine’s body melting under the man’s obviously familiar touch.

Eventually, Blaine seemed to recollect himself and tried desperately to disentangle himself from the man’s clutches, pushing with his hands against the chest crushing his.

“Bas,” he mumbled against the man’s lips. “Seb, Come on!”

“Wanky!” teased Santana drily.

“Sebastian, let up, will you?”

Embarrassed, Blaine twisted in the man’s arms to turn to face his friends again and with Sebastian’s arms still hugging his chest tightly, he held up his hands in weak defeat and said, “Santana, Sam - This is Sebastian.”

“Right, the high school boyfriend,” commented Santana sarcastically.

“Ex-boyfriend,” qualified Blaine quickly, still trapped by Sebastian’s arms.

“Hey Dude!” greeted Sam, cheerfully oblivious to Blaine’s discomfort.

“Shit!” Santana exploded, looking around. “Where’d Kurt go?”

_Stupid Kurt! Stupid! Stupid!_

Kurt shoved the key into the ignition and hit his hand on the steering wheel in frustration.

_Not so straight, then._

The gorgeously handsome and talented head coach of the McKinley Titans was not as straight as he had assumed. Not straight at all.

_Gay, in fact - a wonderfully, gloriously gay football coach in notoriously homophobic Lima. Shit!_

But, he was obviously taken, by some stupidly tall, impossibly handsome, passionate, face-sucking, kissing meerkat.

_Stupid Kurt! Stupid! Stupid!_

 

 


	4. Hand Off

**HAND OFF**

_**The act of giving the ball to another player** _

 

With his eyes closed in pure enjoyment, Kurt was lost in the melody he was playing at the piano when a tentative knock at the door to the choir room interrupted him. He opened his eyes to find Coach Anderson standing in the doorway. Kurt’s hand faltered on the piano keys and he stopped playing to wipe his hands on his thighs, wondering why his mouth had suddenly gone so dry.

“Coach Anderson,” he stated somewhat unnecessarily. “What brings you onto the school corridors and, more especially, to the choir room?”

Blaine chuckled. “Mr Hummel, may I come in?” he asked politely and did so when Kurt’s hands invited him to do just that. “I feel bad that we haven’t been formally introduced. We were interrupted last Friday evening and I feel quite-”

“There’s no need,” interrupted Kurt, quickly stemming what he felt would become an embarrassing and unnecessary apology and also because he had no wish to revisit the image of Sebastian’s possessive mouth on Blaine’s at all. “I know exactly who you are and since I’ll be running McKinley’s music and theatre programme and you the athletic programme, I see absolutely no need for us to …”

Kurt stopped; unsure of what exactly it was he wanted to say at the end of that sentence. “... you know?” he mumbled and, suitably embarrassed, he returned his eyes to the sheet music in front of him.

Blaine raised an eyebrow thoughtfully at slender man seated at the piano. “Oh, you mean like athletics and music just don’t mix?” he queried.

Kurt nodded, fully aware of the uncomfortable blush that was treacherously working its way up his neck towards his ears and cheeks.

Blaine sat down comfortably on the bar stool close to the piano, hiking his one leg up onto the foot rest and leaning his elbow on the piano. His body turned fully towards Kurt, he continued, “Well, actually that’s what I’ve come to chat to you about this morning.”

Kurt was annoyed that Blaine’s new casual position caused him to have to look up at the coach so he stood up and began to rearrange the loose sheet music lying on the piano lid.

“Oh?” he commented lightly as he frowned at the sheets out of order. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I know that your Glee Club list went up on the school notice board yesterday after you held auditions last week and a few this week,” Blaine began.

“You seem very well-informed of my actions lately, Coach Anderson.”

“Please, call me Blaine,” the handsome coach encouraged and then continued. “It’s just, well some of the guys came to chat to me when they didn’t make the cut.”

Ever so slowly, Kurt put down the papers he was holding and turned to look at Blaine carefully. “There was no need for them to involve you in what is essentially a Glee Club matter,” he protested quietly.

“It’s a bit odd, don’t you think, that of all the students who auditioned for you, everyone made it, except every single one of the footballers who auditioned. So yeah, you can imagine that they would come to me, especially after they found your excuse to be unsatisfactory.” Blaine countered slowly, seeming to choose his words cautiously.

“My _excuse_?” spluttered Kurt in indignation. “Coach Anderson, I’ll have you know - ”

“Blaine, please,” entreated Blaine, yet again.

“Fine! … Blaine,” Kurt conceded to the coach’s request and ground out the coach’s name through clenched teeth. “I’ll have you know that I explained very carefully and most sincerely to the boys why they didn’t make the list. It’s not that they are not good enough at all – Damn it, Haydn has a stunning voice and Wolf’s baritone is fantastically deep and beautiful. Clive can hold a decent tune and Scott definitely has potential. But unfortunately, as I explained to them, Glee club rehearsals clash with your football practice times.”

“Really? I was not aware of that at all.” Blaine was not in the least perturbed by Kurt’s escalating pitch. “However, I seem to recall seeing around the Administrator’s office an extra-curricular schedule on which football practice didn’t clash with anything. There was a very real reason for that decision made at the end of last year’s season. Faculty members didn’t want athletes to use sport as a reason not to get involved in other activities offered by the school, such as Glee club.”

“I changed it,” mumbled Kurt, not meeting Blaine’s eyes and searching desperately for page three on the piano lid.

“Oh, well that’s good then. You can just change it back and the boys can attend.” Blaine seemed quite pleased at what he deemed was a successful outcome of their discussion.

“No,” Kurt replied, ceasing his futile search for page three to look directly at Blaine. “No, I can’t change it back now.”

“You can’t or you won’t, Mr Hummel?”

Blaine’s voice was steel in the silence as the two men stared hard at each other. Kurt was the first to lower his eyes but his cheeks were tinged pink with anger and he was clenching and unclenching his fist.

“What exactly is your problem with football players or football itself, huh?” Blaine wanted to know heatedly.

“I don’t have a problem with football - ”

“Rubbish, Kurt - ”

Both men seemed to be startled at Blaine’s unintentional use of Kurt’s first name but he was in full rant now.

“I saw it all over your face that very first day at our launch assembly. The sight of my players made you almost physically ill – I could see that – it was perfectly clear.”

Kurt slammed his hands down on the piano lid causing Blaine to flinch and papers to fly.

“You don’t know anything about me! Nothing about what I like and don’t like so don’t you _dare_ walk into my choir room and tell me what to do and when to do it!” he yelled. “I will not bow down and worship at the ego that is Coach Anderson like everyone else in this school. This is _my_ choir room now and what I say goes!”

Kurt took a deep breath to steady his voice. “So you can either like it or leave it, but you will not come in here again and tell me what to do.”

Blaine stood up from the bar stool and moved to stand beside Kurt.

“I don’t like it; not one bit at all. You’re messing with these kids who would love to get involved in the Arts as well.”

“And what, Mr Demi-god Golden Coach, would _you_ know about the Arts, huh?” Kurt was at his bitchiest now that his anger had been roused.

“Don’t presume to know me either, Mr Hummel,” Blaine spat out Kurt’s surname. “You don’t … you know what? Just forget it! I guess Santana was wrong.”

“About what?” Kurt was still angry but now, also intrigued.

“Santana said that I would be able to talk to you and that we’d be able to reach some sort of common ground to meet the needs of these kids. She said I’d find you perfectly reasonable.”

“Santana shouldn’t speak for me like she knows me,” countered Kurt unkindly.

“I thought you guys were friends. I thought you were all at school together here. Didn’t you all make magic in this room together?” Blaine spun around, his hands in the air as he threw this question at Kurt.

“I left! We changed!” yelled Kurt in frustration. “Until last week I hadn’t seen Santana since we buried … since…”

Kurt stopped, the fight leaving him as suddenly as it had appeared.

“You know what? We’re done here.”

********************************************************************************************************************

A week after his heated altercation with Blaine Anderson in the choir room, Kurt dismissed the kids after a productive Glee rehearsal and promised himself a reward in the form of a cup of coffee at the _Lima_ _Bean_ before heading home for the evening.

“G’night, Mr H,” called several students as they left the room in groups of twos and threes. Kurt waved them farewell and then wandered into his small adjoining office where he picked up his messenger bag from off the floor. A small cough startled him and he turned back to the inter-leading doorway. Haydn, McKinley’s quarterback and captain of the football team, stood there.

“Um... Mr H, I just wanted to say, on behalf of the boys, that we’re very grateful you reconsidered your decision and changed rehearsal times to suit us. It means a lot to us to be a part of this club. We all love music and well we’re all desperate to perform anyway so this is … well it’s just really decent of you. So, um…thank you.”

Kurt smiled at the tall athlete. “It’s kind of you to say something, Haydn. I’m pleased we were able to work something out that works in everyone’s favour. And I’m really glad to have you guys as part of the Glee club. Now I’m hoping you’ll be able to fit in musical auditions and rehearsals too.”

“You betcha, Mr H! See ya!”

“Good night,” Kurt smiled at the boy’s obvious enthusiasm. “Oh, and Haydn, congratulations on your team’s second win,” called Kurt at the boy’s departing back.

His smile faded though as he recalled the heated argument he’d had with Haydn’s coach the previous week and the subsequent e-mail he’d received from the school Administration “ _suggesting_ ” most emphatically that he reschedule his Glee rehearsals to accommodate the athletes.

 _Interfering bastard_ , thought Kurt unkindly not for the first time that week.

Santana had tried to talk to him in the corridor the day after his argument with Blaine but he had cut her down and refused to take her subsequent calls. On Saturday afternoon, Sam had arrived to visit Burt just as Carole and Kurt were interviewing prospective day-care nurses so Kurt had managed to avoid him too. He was not ready to talk to either of them about their boss, Blaine _bloody_ Anderson.

He was grateful for the open parking space near the entrance to the coffee shop and upon entering, ordered a grand non fat mocha. He paid the barista, leaving some extra money on the counter.

“My contribution towards whoever orders after me,” he explained and the barista nodded in understanding as Kurt took his drink over to a table in the corner. He sat down, dug out a novel from his messenger bag and settled into the seat comfortably. Engrossed in the story, he didn’t hear the bell over the door jingle as a new customer entered and approached the barista, nor did he hear their murmured conversation. It was only as a shadow fell across his page that he was brought out of his reverie and startled by the sound of someone softly calling his name.

“Mr Hummel?”

“Mmm …I’m sorry … mmm … what? Oh, oh, Coach Anderson ” Kurt was flustered as he looked up, trying to gain a sense of where he was, and stared into the swirling hazelnut colours of Blaine’s eyes.

“I’m sorry - I tried so hard not to startle you but that’s just what I did. I’m so sorry,” Blaine apologised.

“No, no don’t apologise. It’s me – I get totally lost in a book and it takes me a while to resurface again,” explained Kurt, waving off the coach’s remorse.

“I didn’t want to bother you but the barista said that … um … he said that you had paid for my drink?” Blaine was embarrassed and bewildered. “um … How did you ..?”

“Oh, you were the next in line, huh? Fancy that. It’s just something we used to do in New York. I once walked into a _Starbucks_ on Times Square and when I ordered, the barista told me that my drink had been paid for by the customer who had been in front of me in the queue. So Rachel and I decided to pay it forward, sort of, or backwards, if you know what I mean? It’s a bit of a habit now.”

Blaine smiled at Kurt and his eyes twinkled. “Wow, that’s awesome. I shall have to do the same now that I’ve been treated. Thank you very much. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome although it’s not as though I did it for _you_.” Kurt gasped as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “I’m sorry that was unbelievably rude. My dad says I have absolutely no filter. I just meant that ...”

“No, really, forget it. I do understand what you mean but I appreciate the gesture nevertheless. Look, I’ve disturbed you enough; I should leave you to enjoy your book in peace.”

Kurt smiled tentatively at the school’s head coach. “Or, you could sit down and we could try to have a conversation that doesn’t end up with me insulting you. How would that be? Would you care to join me?” he invited, gesturing to the empty chair.

“I’d like that enormously, thank you,” said Blaine as he placed his medium drip coffee on the table and sat down opposite Kurt.

“Look, Kurt … ” Blaine stopped short and regrouped his thoughts, “Mr Hummel,” he began again.

“Please, it’s actually fine. Please, call me Kurt.”

“Thank you,” accepted Blaine with a relieved smile that made Kurt’s heart melt as he continued. “Look Kurt, I really need to get something off my chest. It’s been eating me all week.”

“O-kay,” sighed Kurt, waiting for whatever misdemeanour he had inadvertently committed this week to upset the almighty Head Coach. “What have I done wrong now?”

“Nothing, Kurt. This one’s totally on me.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows in suspicion and cocked his head to the side. “You? What have you done?” he asked curiously.

“I acted in haste and, without knowing all the facts of the matter, I caused you and your family considerable extra stress at a time you really don’t need it.”

Kurt put down his coffee mug and stared at Blaine. “What in the hell are you talking about, Blaine?”

Blaine took a breath before answering simply, “Kurt, I didn’t know that you had re-scheduled Glee rehearsals for a different afternoon and time so that you could be at home to take care of your father on the afternoons when your stepmother is on duty at the ER.”

“And how could you possibly know such personal and private matters, Blaine?” asked Kurt dangerously quietly.

“Sam told me on Sunday afternoon at football practice. Apparently he was visiting your dad on Saturday afternoon when you and Carole were interviewing day-care nurses. Your father explained to Sam that the school was making you reschedule your rehearsal afternoons and so outside help was now necessary.”

“That’s got absolutely nothing to do with Sam nor has it got anything to do with you, Blaine,” hissed Kurt through clenched teeth and Blaine could tell the man sitting opposite him was trying hard to keep his temper in check.

“But, you see, that’s just it, Kurt – it’s _my_ fault. I should have listened to you last week – I should have given you an opportunity to explain why you’d made the change. I didn’t give you a chance.”

“No, you didn’t,” agreed Kurt, “but, to be honest, Blaine, that’s not something I would have shared with you anyway and I’m furious with my dad for telling Sam.”

“But Sam’s almost family, isn’t he? Didn’t he live with your family in his junior and senior years at McKinley when his parents moved away?”

“Yeah, he did, but even so that doesn’t give him the right to blab our business to all and sundry,” argued Kurt.

“To be fair, Kurt, I’m not ‘ _all and sundry’_. Sam just though it was important that I knew why you’d made the schedule change without consulting anybody. He and I, and the boys obviously, are thrilled that they can now be a part of your Glee club but I am sorry that their participation has come at an extra cost for your family. If there’s anything I can ever do to help, please would you let ...”

“That is _completely_ out of the question and totally unnecessary. We’re fine. We don’t need - ”

“I’m just saying that if ever you - ” Blaine was nothing if not persistent.

“Blaine,” Kurt’s voice was low and laced with warning as he cut in again, “drink your coffee; it’s getting cold.”

Fortunately, Blaine recognised and heeded the cautioning tone.

“So what are you reading?” he asked, deftly changing the subject and effectively getting himself safely out of the established ‘Kurt Hummel Danger Zone.’

Kurt lifted the novel off the table and showed Blaine the cover of _Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West_ by Gregory Maguire.

“I know the show so well,” Kurt began and then laughed, disparagingly, “I was a flying monkey for a while and yet I’ve never read the book and someone recommended that I should so, well, here I am.”

“Do you miss it?” Blaine asked and then immediately regretted the question as he watched Kurt’s face change and Blaine recognised the suppressed anguish his question had caused.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised.

_For what, the sixth time this afternoon? Way to go, Anderson!_

“I had no right to ask something so personal.”

“No, no. It’s not personal at all,” replied Kurt with false lightness in his voice. “It’s an obvious question isn’t it? I mean, don’t you miss playing for the … whoever it was you played for?” he asked, his hand flying up in the air as he sought for the name of Blaine’s previous team.

Just as Blaine recognised the denial in Kurt’s eyes, Kurt read the pain that flickered across Blaine’s eyes at his question.

“The Patriots,” Blaine replied quietly, “and the simple answer is yes, every single day, especially -”

“Blaine? Hey, Killer! It _is_ you. I was standing over there at the counter getting my coffee when I said to myself, _Wait a minute, I know that hair_.”

Kurt and Blaine looked up to find Sebastian standing at their table with a smirk on his face. Without invitation, he sat down beside Kurt and took Blaine’s hand in his. “It’s a little longer and much curlier than it used to be but I’d know the back of that head anywhere, wouldn’t I?” Sebastian giggled and wriggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively, continued, “If you know what I mean?”

Blaine deftly removed his hand and gestured towards Kurt. “Sebastian, this is a colleague of mine, Kurt Hummel. Kurt, this is Sebastian Smythe.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” greeted Kurt sarcastically.

“Of course you are,” laughed Sebastian without even looking at Kurt. “I mean, who wouldn’t be, right Killer? So what do you say, Blaine? Me and you and _Scandals_ tonight? I’ll pick you up at 9.”

“Seb, really, you’re kinda interrupting …” Blaine tried but it was no use, Sebastian Smythe was in full bulldozer mode.

“What? You two having a school staff meeting off campus? Because, this can’t be a date, surely? Please tell me this isn’t a date? Is it a date? Oh Blainers, have your standards dropped that low?”

“Sebastian!” Blaine was beside himself with embarrassment.

Kurt tried desperately to ignore the sharp sting of Sebastian’s bitchy comment as he picked up his cup and drained the last dregs of coffee, seeking to still the flare of his temper. Then he stood up, shoving his book back into his messenger bag as Blaine stood up as well.

“Kurt look, I - ”

“What? You’re ‘sorry’? _Again_? Forget it, Blaine. Next time, just accept the coffee and walk on past my table would you?”

With his bag now over his shoulder, Kurt turned his back on Blaine and Sebastian and walked out of the _Lima Bean_.

“Kurt!” Blaine called hopelessly.

 

“Blainers! Geez, come on! A little decorum, please. Let the little lady go…”

“Bas, what the hell?” Blaine finally exploded. “You are unbelievable! Why in the hell are you even here in Lima?”

“Killer, come on, surely you can do better than that twink?”

 

 


	5. Punt

**PUNT**

**_The offense must surrender possession of the ball to the defense because it couldn't advance 10 yards._ **

 

Blaine took a long, satisfying sip of his beer before replacing it on the bar counter and, with a deep sigh, buried his head in his hands, elbows on the countertop.

“Argh!!!!!!!!” It’s hopeless,” he moaned.

“Blaine, surely it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be?” asked Nick gently.

“Not that we think you’re being overly dramatic or anything,” added Jeff giving his boyfriend a subtle wink as he wrapped his arm around Nick’s waist. The teasing note in his voice was obvious to both men.

“I saw that wink, Jeffrey Stirling!” Blaine mumbled, a little petulantly.

“Yeah? Because, like, um … I’m trying to think of a time before when you stuffed up and confused signals you thought a boy was sending you.” Jeff closed his eyes and tapped his head in full Winnie-the-Pooh thinking mode. Suddenly, he opened his eyes wide and gasped in exaggeration.

“Oh wait! I know! There was that time in … What was it? …Oh, a public place!” Jeff turned to his boyfriend, the hugest grin on his impish face. “Nicky, it’s all coming back to me now. Just when I thought there was a …. wait for it ... GAP in my memory!” Jeff giggled hysterically over his little pun at Blaine’s expense.

“Angel, you’re being mean to Blaine,” Nick smiled at Jeff fondly, tugging the man even closer to him.

“It was that _one_ time,” Blaine argued weakly as he raised the beer glass to his lips again.

“That’s right, Jeff, and then he met Sebastian,” agreed Nick.

“Mmm…” Jeff rolled his eyes, “and then he met Sebastian. So, what’s the darling boy doing back in our neck of the woods anyway?”

Blaine shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently Paris has become _boring_ , _tired_ _and stale_.” Nick and Jeff raised their eyebrows in surprise.

“His words,” Blaine qualified quickly. “He wants something _fresh_.”

“In Ohio?” Nick asked incredulously.

“Yeah, well, that’s not gonna happen,” Jeff was quite positive in his declaration.

“Does he want to get back together with you, Blaine?” asked Nick seriously but Jeff, his hand on Blaine’s shoulder in warning, interrupted before Blaine could answer.

“Oh, honey, no – you’ve gotta tell him that ship has sailed.”

Blaine sighed, “Jeff, it’s complicated. Sebastian was - ”

“Yeah, I know - your first love, your first lover … blah blah – He got all your firsts, didn’t he? Bastard even managed to be the first to break my poor Blainers’ heart, too!” Jeff was scathing in his reminiscing.

“No; actually, he didn’t, Jeff. I think that we both understood that it was a high school romance and when we went separate ways to college, oceans apart, it was an amicable split,” countered Blaine.

“So _amicable_ that he wants to get it on again, now?” Nick asked, his eyebrows, raised in suspicion.

“No, I don’t think so,” Blaine considered his reply. “I think he’s bored; he wants company and so he gravitates towards what is familiar.”

“Which is … you.” supplied Nick.

“Which is … me,” affirmed Blaine.

“But in the meantime he’s interrupting sexy times with your new lover-boy!” sulked Jeff.

“Jeffrey Stirling! Kurt is not my …” Blaine’s hand flew up in the air to indicate the word he was not able to even say. “And it was not ‘sexy times’ – we were just chatting. Now, I don’t think he’ll ever speak to me again.” Blaine let his head drop onto the countertop and let it rest there in despair.

“But I wonder why he got so upset that day, Blaine,” Nick mused.

“I told you – Bas was all over me.”

“Yes, I get that, but why should _that_ bother Kurt. Why would it upset Kurt that Bas was flirting with you? … Unless ...” Nick let the idea hover above the heads of the three men.

“Ohh, I know! I know!” Jeff was bouncing on his feet and pointing to Blaine. “Kurt wants you and Sebastian’s attention made him jealous!”

“No, I don’t think it’s that at all. I told you we had a massive falling out over rehearsal and practice times and he was really mad at me. Over coffee, I was able to apologise for being an idiot and I think, if we would have had the time, we might have been able to enjoy a civil conversation but he was so angry with me when he left. Basically, told me never to speak to him again.”

Nick recognised the sad tone wrapped around Blaine’s softly spoken reply. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that cold, hard defeat in Blaine’s voice.

“So what’s it like at school then, awkward or what?” he wanted to know.

“Well, not really because like our paths don’t really cross at all. I don’t know what to do. It sucks!”

“But why does it _suck_ , Blainers, my baby?” Jeff cajoled, his arm now around Blaine’s shoulders in comfort. “Can’t you handle it that there’s someone out there who doesn’t think the sun and moon and all the stars in the sky shine out of Blaine Anderson’s impossibly cute li’l ass.”

Jeff delivered this judgement all the while hugging his good friend and tickling his sides before slapping Blaine on the butt.

“Hey, watch it, Blondie! It ain’t that li’l,” Blaine admonished lightly as he tried to squirm out of Jeff’s tight, teasing embrace.

“Alright, ladies, settle down,” interjected Nick. “Let’s resolve this on the dance floor!”

He stood up off the barstool and grabbed each man by the wrist and dragged them onto the dance floor where the pulsing throb of the music and bright, flickering coloured lights could take their minds off Blaine’s woes just for a while.

 

Hours later, Blaine couldn’t believe his bad luck. He had dropped Nick and Jeff back at their home in Westerville and was travelling back to Lima on the quiet back roads in an effort to avoid any traffic police when his car suddenly shuddered. The right side of the bonnet dipped slightly and he could feel the aftermath of a tyre puncture.

Blaine brought the limping car slowly to a halt in a small siding and climbed out to inspect the damage using the torchlight from his phone. The tyre was completely deflated and Blaine sighed audibly in frustration. He knew it was no use even getting the spare tyre out of his trunk because that too was useless since he hadn’t ever replaced it when he had discovered a nail protruding from it months ago.

Cursing his predilection for procrastination, he opened his phone and dialled the Lima Emergency Services who promised someone would be there to assist him within the half hour. Blaine settled down in his seat to wait and must have dozed off because he was startled awake by the rumbling sound of an approaching vehicle and momentarily blinded by bright headlights shining straight at him.

Yawning and rubbing his gritty eyes, he glanced at his wrist watch and was pleasantly surprised to note that the operator had not exaggerated at all. He opened the car door and swung his legs out to meet the driver of the tow truck.

“Shit!”

At the sound of the cuss, Blaine looked up and gasped. His eyes, unbelievingly, landed on Kurt Hummel’s face which was scowling back down at him. Blaine gulped as his eyes travelled down Kurt’s form-fitting denim coveralls which were tucked neatly into a pair of heavy duty black high ankle boots complete with several straps and buckles. His hand still on the car door, Blaine was caught fast between the car seat and the unimpressed glare of the man standing before him.

“Kurt?”

Managing successfully to get the man’s name out without stuttering like a fool, Blaine asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, apparently,” Kurt replied, disdain written all over his face.

He turned away from Blaine who was still struggling to get out of the car and walked over to assess the damage to the tyre. He stood staring at the wheel, one arm folded across his waist and the other extended towards his face where he tapped his mouth with his index finger, appearing to be in rapt contemplation.

Finally, Blaine extricated himself from the car’s bucket seat, pushed the heavy door wide open and walked around to join Kurt.

“No, actually, I mean, why - ” he began but Kurt interrupted, clearly not interested in small talk.

“Dispatch said you have no spare; that right?” he quizzed abruptly, the disbelief obvious on his face.

“Yes,” replied Blaine, thoroughly chagrined. “I had a nail in my tyre about two months back and I kept meaning to replace it but what with pre-season training and the start of school and the new season starting and … well I just never got round to it,” he explained, reading the critical judgement in Kurt’s eyes as he listened to Blaine’s feeble excuses.

“Look, Kurt,” Blaine tried again to mend fences, “Can I just say - ” but Kurt cut him off.

“No! Nothing you say can excuse this, Blaine,” replied Kurt harshly. “This is reckless and you should know better. Unfortunately, I don’t have a matching tyre in the truck – you _would_ be driving a ridiculous sports car...”

“Hey, an Alfa Romeo Spider is a collector’s item,” Blaine felt the need to rush to his baby’s defence but Kurt carried on as if he had not heard the man.

“… so we’ll have to load her onto the back of the truck.”

Having delivered his assessment and verdict, Kurt walked back towards his truck and Blaine was left standing forlornly beside his car, feeling very much like a severely-chastised, errant schoolboy. He heard Kurt radio his decision to dispatch before firing up the engine to bring the truck closer to Blaine’s car. When he swung out of the cab again, Blaine spoke up.

“Can I help with anything?” he asked timidly.

Kurt stopped walking and looked at Blaine appraisingly. He noted the impossibly tight, dark red pants into which was tucked a smart black button down shirt but it was the silk bow tie that really grabbed his attention. Blaine looked gorgeous. He’d obviously been out somewhere special, perhaps dinner, even dancing perhaps … with … with Sebastian. Of course! While Kurt was working extra shifts to help cover the cost of Burt’s exorbitant medical bills and now the added expense of a day-care nurse two afternoons a week, Blaine was out kicking heels. Kurt frowned in frustrated anger.

“No, thank you. I can manage,” he relied curtly.

Disappointed and confused, Blaine watched Kurt set about preparing his car for hoisting. He was sure he hadn’t imagined the softening in Kurt’s gaze as the man had looked at him as if gauging whether he could be of any possible help. Blaine sure as hell hadn’t missed that moment when Kurt’s face clouded over and frowned as if some thought had upset him.

 _Shit! He’s gorgeous even when he’s angry,_ thought Blaine rather unhelpfully at this point.

As Blaine watched his car being placed carefully onto the back of Kurt’s truck, he tried yet again. “You know, one summer when I was in high school, my dad and I built a ’59 Chevy in our driveway.”

Kurt paused in his securing of the vehicle to look at Blaine curiously. “He a car enthusiast or something?” he queried.

“Nah, not at all. It was his attempt at father-son bonding.”

“Oh? How’d that work out for you?” Kurt feigned vague interest.

“It was an epic failure! It was only when I started playing football that we found some common ground,” explained Blaine.

Despite himself, Kurt began to smile, albeit weakly. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Football - the great father-son glue.”

Kurt finished his final check and then turned to Blaine. “I’m going to run her into my dad’s garage. Tomorrow, I’ll have Henry order in two new tyres for you and, as soon as they arrive, he’ll fit them for you. It shouldn’t take more than two days.”

“Thanks Kurt, I appreciate it very much.” Blaine said sincerely.

“Do you want … um … Is there someone you want to call to collect you? Or, I could drop you somewhere? Um… is Sebastian …?”

“Kurt, Kurt, please stop. Listen to me,” begged Blaine.

Kurt looked up sharply as Blaine moved forward wanting to place both hands on Kurt’s shoulders in an effort to gain the man’s complete attention, but Kurt jerked swiftly out of range of Blaine’s hands, his eyes wide in anxious surprise. Blaine noted the rapid evasive action and, instead, lifted his hands in surrender, although now that he had Kurt’s attention, quietly he continued.

“Kurt, Sebastian means nothing to me. It’s important that you believe me.”

“Really, Blaine it’s got nothing to do with me who you choose to see, I just want to know if you want me to wait here with you while he comes to collect you or if you want me to drop you at his place.” Kurt shrugged off Blaine’s attempted explanation looking everywhere else but at the handsome coach standing in front of him.

“Kurt, stop! Please stop! I don’t want to be anywhere near Sebastian right now and I have told _him_ that as well. I’m truly sorry he was an absolute ass the other day, I really am.”

There was silence as Kurt weighed Blaine’s words.

“Do you think I could ride with you into Lima?” Blaine asked quietly in the silence. “I was actually heading home.”

“Oh? Alright, we’ll take the truck to the garage, pick up my car and I’ll run you back to your place. That okay?” offered Kurt.

“Thank you, Kurt. You really are a life saver.”

 

For the first ten minutes of the journey back to Lima neither man said a word; each lost in his own thoughts and wondering how best to break the silence which settled uncomfortably upon them like a heavy fog.

“So, how come you’re…” began Blaine at _exactly_ the same time as Kurt asked, “What were you…”

They both laughed and Blaine shrugged and gestured for Kurt to continue. “After you, good sir,” he invited.

“No, actually,” replied Kurt, “I was going to ask where you had been this evening but it’s too personal. Has nothing to do with me; I’m sorry.”

“No, no don’t be, Kurt,” Blaine responded quickly, glad for the conversation at least. “It’s a perfectly legit question. I was at a bar in Westerville with some old schoolmates of mine.”

“Oh?” responded Kurt, “Well, I guess that does make sense. There are no decent bars in Lima at all. Do your friends live in Westerville, then?

Blaine smiled sardonically at Kurt who realised that perhaps he was being intrusive.

“I’m sorry! I’m all over you with questions tonight. Like I said the other day … no filter,” apologised Kurt as he checked quickly in the rear-view mirror that all was still okay with his cargo.

“Kurt, no, that’s not - Hey, no – I’m just … Hell, I’m just enjoying a conversation with you that doesn’t involve snapping at each other,” Blaine was quick to reassure the other man.

“Oh, well, give me ten minutes,” Kurt quipped and the two men grinned at Kurt’s self-disparaging humour.

“To answer your question: yes, my friends, Nick and Jeff, _do_ live in Westerville. Nick’s a teacher at my old school there.”

“You went to school in Westerville? I thought you were from Boston.” The surprise was evident in Kurt’s voice.

“Nope, I graduated from Dalton Academy all the way back in 2013.”

“No shit! Really? I remember, in my junior year, we were supposed to compete against the Dalton Warblers at Sectionals but then the Show Choir Executive Committee redrew the boundary lines and Dalton was placed in a different region to us so we never did,” explained Kurt.

“Yeah, you know, I actually remember that. Nick and Jeff had plans to go spy on the New Directions but Wes forbade them, threatening them with grievous bodily harm with a gavel should they attempt it. It was just as well that we never did compete against you guys.”

“We? You were a Warbler?” Kurt took his eyes off the road to stare in amazement at the man sitting beside him.

“Um... yeah?” Blaine answered somewhat self-consciously meeting Kurt’s eyes and then looking away.

“No way – you?” Kurt was disbelieving.

Blaine laughed. “What does that mean … ‘ _you?_ ’ I’ll have you know I can hold a decent tune, thank you very much! And if you check your show choir history, you’ll discover that we won Nationals in my senior year.” The last line was delivered with such pride that Kurt had to smile.

“You know, I’d actually forgotten _that_ fact. I mean, I remember that the New Directions lost, but I’d forgotten that it was to the Dalton Warblers. And that was you, huh?”

“Yeah, well me and a bunch of other really talented teenagers,” Blaine shrugged.

“Nick and Jeff?” probed Kurt.

“Yep, Nick and Jeff,” Blaine confirmed.

“And Sebastian?” Kurt asked quietly now, his eyes fixed steadily on the road in front of him.

Blaine sighed audibly, “And Sebastian. Kurt, I told you - ”

“No, no – Blaine, forget it. It’s got nothing to do with me,” Kurt interrupted with an apology.

“Kurt, geez! Would you just listen?” Blaine’s voice rose in frustration and Kurt raised his hand in apology, gesturing for Blaine to continue.

“Sebastian arrived at Dalton in my junior year. I had been crushing on a guy much older than me and had made a complete fool of myself in front of him and all the Warblers. I was young and naive and basically lacked confidence in myself because of … well because of stuff. Sebastian blew in like a tornado and quite literally swept me off my feet. He’s always been a - ”

“Loud, arrogant, total dipshit,” supplied Kurt as Blaine grimaced at the harsh but totally accurate words.

“I’m sorry; you were saying?” continued Kurt, not actually sorry in the least. Blaine took in deep breath.

“He seemed to be everything I thought I wanted to be. We dated for the two years left of high school but then when we graduated, I got a football scholarship to Chicago and Sebastian decided to travel to Paris to study at the University of the Sorbonne. We broke up the summer before college began. We’ve kept in contact over the years but this is actually the first time I’ve seen him since then.”

“Really, Blaine, there’s no need to explain this to me.” Kurt’s voice was soft and apologetic.

“I feel that I should, though,” Blaine responded. “He was unbelievably rude to you in the coffee shop two weeks ago and I was horribly embarrassed.”

“There’s no need.”

“No, you see I was enjoying our chat very much and he just - ”

“Spoilt it completely? You’ll get no arguments from me on that one.”

 

 

By the time they arrived at Hummel’s Tyre and Lube, the two men were chatting comfortably, swapping “Santana-horror” stories. Kurt drove the truck with its precious burden into the workshop and locked up, before inviting Blaine to get into his car.

As he buckled up, Blaine searched for an answer to his very first question of the evening.

“Kurt, how come _you_ came out to answer the emergency call?”

“Oh, um … it’s just something I can do to help my dad out,” Kurt answered vaguely and before Blaine could probe any more, he asked for directions to Blaine’s apartment.

“Oh, right! Yeah, I’ll give those to you as we travel. It’s not too far from the school actually.”

Not much later, thanks to Blaine’s clear and concise directions, Kurt was pulling up alongside the kerb just outside Blaine’s building. Having unbuckled his seatbelt, the grateful man turned in his seat to face Kurt.

“I really don’t know how to thank you,” he started and Kurt laughed.

“Don’t thank me at all! Lima Emergency services will be sending you an itemised bill and Henry will charge you for those two new tyres,” he remarked.

Blaine had the grace to laugh too. “You’re right but, nevertheless, I am grateful to you.”

“You’re welcome, Blaine,” replied Kurt softly.

Blaine smiled warmly, opened the door and climbed out. Murmuring his thanks once more, he closed the door carefully behind him. Kurt was about to drive off when a thought struck him and he pressed the button on his door panel which opened the window on Blaine’s side.

“Blaine!” he called out.

Blaine ducked down towards the open window.

“Yeah?”

“I … um … well, will you need a lift tomorrow to school? I know Santana’s out of town for a few days at that cheer squad convention thing so you can’t ride in with her. I could swing round and pick you up, if you want?”

Blaine’s smile lit up his face and his eyes twinkled. “That would be awesome. Thank you so much Kurt!”

“Right then, I’ll be down here around 7.20 in the morning. That suit you?” Kurt asked.

“That’s perfect! I’ll be waiting. Thanks, Kurt.” Blaine tapped the car’s roof as Kurt eased away slowly from the kerb.

Blaine watched the car’s taillights disappear down the road before he turned and jogged up the few short stairs to the front door of his building.

 _Well, tonight certainly ended better than it started_ , he thought happily. _Perhaps Kurt and I can find a way to be friends._

 

 


	6. Fumble

**FUMBLE**

_**The act of losing possession of the ball while running with it or being tackled.** _

 

Blaine grinned cheerfully at the few students he passed in the corridor of the high school as he made his way towards the choir room. In each hand, he held a steaming cup of coffee – a grand non fat mocha for Kurt and a medium drip for himself. He was ‘paying it forward’, so to speak, but also he wanted to thank Kurt for the lift into school the past two days.

Just the day before, during the school day, Henry, from _Hummel’s Tyre and Lube_ , had brought back Blaine’s car, complete with two brand new tyres. Blaine was thrilled to have his car returned but found he was quite disappointed that he would no longer be able to enjoy the company of one Kurt Hummel in the mornings before school.

 

 

That first morning, Blaine had been waiting on the pavement outside his building extra early because he didn’t want the man doing him a favour to wait for him at all. At exactly 7.20, Kurt had pulled into an open space and Blaine had climbed in. He found Kurt smiling gently in greeting and pointing to a medium drip coffee from the _Lima Bean_ waiting for him in the specially designed cup-holder attached to the console.

“You’re spoiling me,” he remarked, smiling back gratefully.

“Well, I can’t face the day without my coffee fix so I figured I may as well get two while I was there, in case you were the same,” explained Kurt.

Blaine took a sip of the coffee and sighed in satisfaction. “You must have been up _very_ early this morning – and we had a late night last night. Did you get _any_ sleep?”

Kurt grimaced. “I didn’t sleep well but that’s nothing unusual any more. I haven’t slept well since the phone-call about my dad’s heart attack.”

“How’s he doing?” asked Blaine quietly, “If you don’t mind me asking?”

Kurt shook his head. “It’s hard to tell. The doctors say his heart has weakened considerably and he must rest. Exertion could kill him but I think lying in bed all day reading the papers and watching crap T.V. is killing him too. Makes one revisit the whole ‘quality of life’ debate all over again.”

“I’m sorry, Kurt,” sympathised Blaine.

“Don’t be,” replied Kurt, “It is what it is. I’m just glad that I’m here.”

“Santana told me you gave up a lead role on Broadway to be here for him,” Blaine commented carefully as Kurt nodded all the while biting his bottom lip. “That’s pretty incredible, Kurt. You and your dad must have an amazing relationship - ”

“Yeah,” agreed Kurt, “my dad is pretty awesome.” After a brief pause, he continued, “Wasn’t always like that, though. I was terrified to tell him I was gay so I did a stint on the football team in my sophomore year just so he wouldn’t find out.”

Blaine made a choking sound and coffee spilled from his lips as he spluttered, “You did what?”

Haughtily, Kurt passed him a couple of _Lima Bean_ paper napkins and an embarrassed Blaine dabbed uselessly at his shirt.”

“That’s going to stain,” Kurt informed him, trying hard not to let the relish in his voice supersede his concern for the quality shirt Blaine was wearing.

“I’ve got a spare in the cupboard in my office,” mumbled Blaine and then he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “I’m sorry; did you say _you_ played football?”

Once more, Kurt gave him a haughty glare. “Is it so hard to believe?” he asked gruffly.

“No it’s just – you seem so ... I mean you’re - ”

Kurt glared keenly at him and Blaine began to backpedal quickly.

“How ‘bout I just shut up now and let you tell me what position you played?” suggested Blaine meekly.

“I was their kicker,” announced Kurt with just a hint of pride and a quiet giggle. “Finn helped me and by some miracle I was quite good at it. We won the only game I ever played in.”

“Why did you only play in the one game?” Blaine’s interest was piqued.

“Because I eventually plucked up the courage to tell my dad the truth and when he said he was okay with it, I didn’t need to prove anything to him anymore, so I quit the team and focused on Glee club instead.”

“Wow! Okay, I am seriously impressed,” stated Blaine.

Kurt giggled. “Apparently it doesn’t take much to impress you then, does it?” he noted as he pulled into a vacant parking bay in the reserved area for faculty members.

“Have a great day, Blaine,” he said as he switched off the engine. “Do you need a lift home?”

“No it’s fine – we’ve got practice this afternoon. I’ll get Sam to drop me off. Thanks very much!” replied Blaine.

“Same time tomorrow, then?” Kurt checked. “I doubt Henry will have received the tyres by the end of the day.”

“Same time tomorrow, thank you. Kurt, I appreciate it very much!”

 

 

 

“Hey, coach!” greeted Haydn as Blaine turned towards the choir room door. Blaine stopped short and looked passed several lockers to where the school’s quarterback stood with his locker door wide open as he emptied his bag of heavy books.

“Haydn, hi, good morning,” replied Blaine cheerfully.

The young football player was curious. “We don’t often see you down this end of the school, Coach – what’s up? Where are you heading with those coffees?”

Blaine could feel the blush rise from beneath the collar of his shirt and inch its way up his neck and encroach on his cheeks.

“Oh ... um these?” he gestured uselessly. “I’m just going to… They’re …um for - ” he would have continued to stumble out a reply but Haydn seemed to get the message.

“Oh, you’re taking them to Mr Hummel, are you? I think he’s talking with Ms Lopez right now in his office,” interjected the teen.

“Right? Well, I’ll just…” Blaine gestured toward the door which was ajar and he slid through the gap into the empty choir room. His shoes quiet on the laminated tiled floor, Blaine silently made his way towards the office at the other end of the room. The door was partially closed but Blaine could hear Santana’s voice which, for some strange reason, was rather loud considering that it was still quite early in the morning.

“Just give me a decent reason, Lady Lips and then maybe I’ll begin to believe you!”

“Santana, there’s no need to raise your voice at me. I told you my decision is final and nothing you say will persuade me otherwise,” Kurt’s tone was emphatic.

Blaine came to a halt, unsure of how to proceed. The two old school friends sounded quite irate with each other and Blaine was concerned. He should be - after all, he’d been on the receiving end of Kurt’s anger and he’d seen Santana in full rant several times in the past years.

Should he announce his presence?

_With a cough or a knock on the door?_

Knocking would be hard to do considering his hands were both full. Perhaps he should put the one cup down?

_Yes, that would be a good plan._

Blaine turned away from the office door to place his coffee on a nearby shelf when he caught the next few words out of Santana’s mouth.

“Blaine is an incredibly amazing guy, Kurt. Why won’t you give him a chance?”

Blaine stopped dead in his tracks and turned slowly back to face the door again. Wait, what? Why was _he_ being discussed?

“Santana, for heaven’s sake!” Kurt’s voice was incredulous. “What are you thinking? He’s a … a...”

“A what?” Santana prompted heatedly.

 _Yeah_ , _Kurt,_ coaxed Blaine from his position outside the door, _I’m a what?_

“A football player!” Kurt spat the word out in disgust and Blaine’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion on his forehead.

“He doesn’t play anymore, Kurt. He’s a coach. There’s a difference. Just give him a chance. Ask him out on a date. The two of you would be perfect for each other, trust me I - ” There was a note of exasperation in Santana’s reply but Kurt cut her off heatedly.

“Santana, stop! It’s not going to happen. I have absolutely no intention of getting involved with … with that … with someone like that. Just no. Never, no. Now drop it, would you?”

“Kurt - ”

 

Blaine didn’t wait for Santana to finish her sentence. He turned on his heel and strode quickly out of the choir room. Haydn and a few other students looked up surprised as their football coach hurried passed them with his eyes cast down. They watched in fascination as Blaine, without breaking stride, tossed the coffee cups from the _Lima Bean_ perfectly into the corridor bin where the contents spilled as soon as the cups hit the bottom of the plastic container.

“Coach?”

Haydn called after him but Blaine was deaf to his player’s entreaty as he pushed open the wooden double doors which led to the outside courtyard and, beyond that, the sanctuary of the gymnasium.

*************************************************************************************************************************

That evening, after football practice had ended and the players had left for the showers, Sam sat down on the bench beside Blaine and looked with concern over at the coach who was scribbling notes on the paper attached to his clipboard.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s been biting your ass all day or am I going to have to guess?” Sam asked after a few minutes of silence.

Blaine looked up. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked distractedly.

“Don’t have to pretend with me, Boss,” Sam retorted. “Something’s up.”

“Nothing’s up, Sam. Look, I’m sorry if I snapped at you. I guess I’m just tired and probably stressed about next week’s game.”

“Nah, you didn’t snap – you’re just not your usual upbeat, perky, enthusiastic self that’s all and I was just wondering why or if there was anything I could do help?” Sam offered kindly.

“Nah, Sam, nothing to be done and I’m sure I’ll be just fine in the morning. Nothing like a long, hot soak in the tub this evening with the perfect bottle of red wine, right?”

Blaine picked up his notes, stood up and patted his assistant on the shoulder as he made his way towards the gymnasium block and his office. Sam watched him go, noting with concern the slumped shoulders of his friend.

*******************************************************************************************************************************

A week later, Sam looked up from his seat at Blaine’s desk where he was filling in match statistics when the outer door slammed open and heavy footfalls on the floor made their way angrily towards the coach’s office.

“Where the hell is he?” asked Kurt by way of greeting when he got to the doorway and saw Sam in Blaine’s seat.

“And, good afternoon to you too, Kurt,” replied Sam pleasantly.

“Don’t give me crap, Sam; I’m not in the mood. Where the hell is Coach Anderson? And he’d better have a bloody good explanation for stuffing up my rehearsal schedule!”

“How could he have stuffed up your rehearsal schedule, Kurt? It’s got nothing to do with him,” Sam didn’t understand what Kurt was even talking about but he defended his boss as best he could.

“He’s only gone and changed _your_ football practice time so now there’s a clash with my musical rehearsal and he’s apparently terrorised his football players so much that if they don’t attend, they’ll be off the team so now they’re all going to miss _my_ technical rehearsals because of it. What the hell is his fucking problem?”

“My problem, as you so eloquently put it, Mr Hummel, is the not so small matter of the Division Finals next week.”

Blaine’s quiet but steady and firm voice came from behind Kurt who whirled around to face the man as soon as he heard him.

“You’re such a hypocrite, Blaine!” fired Kurt, his finger gesticulating wildly in Blaine’s. “You fed me that bullshit line about school policy regarding extra-curricular activities not clashing so students wouldn’t be placed in positions where they’d have to choose between activities. Shit! You got _my_ changes reversed and now _you’re_ doing exactly the same thing.”

Blaine calmly walked passed Kurt to his desk where Sam stood up and moved out of his way, his eyes wide in surprise at the heated exchange between the two men. Blaine dropped several papers on his desk and then looked up at Kurt whose chest was heaving in anger.

 _Shit! He’s beautiful_ , thought Blaine but he shook his head in frustration. _Stop it Blaine. Remember what he said – you are not good enough for the high and mighty Kurt Hummel. You’re just a lowly football player, totally undeserving of his lordship’s attention_. Blaine breathed out slowly.

“It’s not the same thing at all, Kurt,” he explained as if to one much younger than he. “It’s an emergency. The school we’re up against next week is exceptionally tough and we need the extra practice. Besides, it’s been given the all-clear by Mr Williams.”

“I don’t care if the Pope himself gave you the all-clear, Blaine. What you’ve done is despicable. I’ve had to change Tech rehearsals to Sunday and Monday which really doesn’t give us enough time before opening night on Tuesday.”

Blaine shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t be helped, Kurt. I’ve already forfeited my players for the three nights of your performance next week so, actually, it’s the least you can do to give them the time off this week,” he replied.

“The least I can do? Kurt spluttered enraged as he repeated Blaine’s words. “The least I can do! No, I’ll tell you what the least I can do is Blaine bloody Anderson - ”

However, before he could describe exactly what that would be, Sam intervened by moving closer to where Kurt was standing seething in anger in front of the desk.

“Kurt, hey ... um ... let’s me and you go for a walk and a bit of a chat, huh? What do you say?” Sam tried to calm his old friend down and placed his hands heavily on each of Kurt’s shoulders.

Neither Blaine nor Sam was prepared for what happened next. Kurt shrieked and flung Sam’s hands off his body.

“Don’t touch me!” he yelled, cheeks flushed red with rage, his eyes wide with fright and his chest panting with the gasping breaths he was gulping. “Don’t you _dare_ touch me, damn it!”

Panicked, Blaine was out of his chair in a second but stopped himself just in time as Kurt pushed Sam forcefully away from him. “Keep your bloody hands off me! Do you hear?” he screamed.

Sam raised his hands in the air in the universal sign of surrender.

“Kurt,” he whispered, “I’m sorry. Shit, man, I totally forgot. I’m so sorry. Kurt -”

“No,” hissed Kurt, his voice having disappeared in his breathless fury. “You _don’t_ get to say you’re sorry. Just leave me the fuck alone.” His eyes darted to include Blaine now. “ _Both_ of you!”

In the silence that followed Kurt’s abrupt departure, Blaine could hear Sam’s heavy breathing as he fought to regain control.

“Sam?” whispered Blaine. “What the hell was that?”

Sam turned to look at Blaine with a defeated look. “Shit!” he exclaimed. “I messed up so badly.”

“What the hell, Sam?” Blaine was overwhelmed by the events in his office. “What just happened?”

“Boss, look I’ve gotta make a call. I’ve gotta ring Mercedes. Only she can talk him down now.”

“Talk him down?” repeated Blaine in confusion. “But, what’s going on Sam?”

“Not now, Boss, I’ve gotta get hold of Mercedes.”

Sam walked out of the office, and Blaine heard the outer door slam closed for the second time in several minutes.

What in the name of all that was unholy had just happened in his office? One minute Kurt was yelling at Blaine about rehearsals and practices and the next he’s going all ballistic on Sam because Sam touched him. And Sam had apologised immediately and said he “forgot.”

 _Forgot what_? Blaine wondered. _What the hell had happened to Kurt Hummel?_


	7. Offside Penalty

**Offside Penalty**

_**A foul in which a player is on the wrong side of the line of scrimmage** _

 

“Hey, Boo,” Mercedes’ soft voice interrupted Kurt’s concentration and he looked up from the clipboard he held in his hand. He was standing on the stage, checking one last time that all the props were accounted for and set up in exactly the right places.

“Mmm… um … Yes, ‘Cedes, what is it?” he asked, distractedly. Mercedes smiled at her friend fondly.

“I just wanted to let you know that everyone is now out of hair and makeup, fully dressed and waiting for you in the choir room.” She grinned, cheekily adding, “As per your instructions, Cap’n.”

Kurt allowed a small smile to skim into place on his face as he made eye contact with his oldest school-friend. He was so grateful that she had flown out from Los Angeles to be with him for this week of his musical. It had been nothing short of a miracle for him to pull off the school’s Fall musical but he was finally satisfied that everything that could be done and rehearsed had been. Now, it was up to the teenagers themselves to bring this story to life on stage and gift the audience with their talent.

“Thank you, ‘Cedes. I’m on my way,” he replied, satisfied that everything was truly now in place.

“How are you feeling, Boo?” she asked, genuinely concerned, as she linked her arm in his and they made their way out of the backstage area towards the choir room.

“I’m great,” Kurt responded. “Really great, actually. I’m very happy with what we’ve managed to achieve here and I’m excited for the parents and public to see this.” He squeezed her arm. “I couldn’t have done it without you, though. I’m so glad you decided to come home a week earlier.”

Mercedes patted her friend’s arm with her free hand. She would never tell him that she’d changed her travel plans for Homecoming weekend after a panicked phone call from Sam Evans a week ago. She’d managed to calm the distraught assistant coach down by promising that Kurt would be okay and, in time, would get over his flare-up at Sam. However, she did advise Sam to stay far away until after Kurt’s musical.

“I just wish my dad could see it, though,” Kurt continued.

“I know, Boo. But we’ll get that video over to him within minutes of the finale tonight, okay?” Mercedes reassured him.

“Yeah, thank you ‘Cedes. I’m so happy you’re here.”

Kurt opened the door to a noisy choir room which instantly stilled as his cast members noted his arrival. Kurt gazed around the room at the various costumed characters and, for the first time in about ten days, sighed happily.

His anger at Sam and Blaine had dissipated soon after Mercedes’ surprise arrival in Lima and, as she and he had discussed the locker room altercation at length, he began to realise just how much he had over-reacted. He knew he had to make things right with Sam and, indeed, with Blaine too, but he’d been so busy over the past few days he hadn’t had a chance and the two men hadn’t crossed his path at all. Idly, he wondered if they would be in the audience tonight.

“Right then, everyone – show circle time!” Kurt clapped his hands and his cast gathered around.

***************************************************************************************************************************

A student, dressed in black jeans and a collared, long-sleeved white shirt sporting a lapel badge that read: “Usher” pointed Blaine in the direction of his ticketed seats in the William McKinley Auditorium.

“Those five there, Coach” the boy gestured and, having thanked the lad with a pat on the shoulder, Blaine sorted Santana, Sam, Jeff and Nick into the row indicated. Once comfortably seated, Nick turned to Blaine and said, “Well, this feels odd. Tell me again why I’m sitting in the audience of a school musical and I don’t even teach here?”

Jeff leaned over and whispered to Nick but loud enough that Blaine could hear. “Nicky, I told you. It’s so that we can check out Blaine’s new hot attraction.”

“Jeffrey Stirling! I swear I will -” Blaine hissed at his friend but Nick held up a hand between the two of them.

“Stop it, guys! Come on Blainers – you know he’s just kidding right?” Nick turned his back on Jeff and leaned closer to Blaine. “You okay, B? You’ve been pretty testy the last week or so. What’s up, huh?”

“Nothing, Nick; nothing’s up,” Blaine assured his good friend. “I just wish Jeff would learn when things are best left alone. Kurt has made it pretty clear that I am public enemy number one in his book.”

“Then, why are we here, B?” pestered Nick.

“Damn it, Nick – it’s _my_ school’s musical. The first one they’ve ever been able to get to the stage since I started here. It’s a big deal, okay? And besides, literally my entire backfield is on stage tonight. I have to see my boys in action,” explained Blaine reasonably. There was no way he was going to explain to Nick that being there tonight meant that he would get a chance to see Kurt.

 

Blaine still hadn’t made his mind up about whether he would actually give Kurt the bouquet of yellow and red roses he had hidden earlier in his office. He was still smarting from what he had inadvertently overheard in the man’s office but the memory of Kurt’s anguished face the day he had screamed at Sam to not touch him was forever etched on Blaine’s mind and had tortured him ever since.

When he’d quizzed her about it much later, Santana had claimed not to know what on earth he was talking about and then admitted that she and Kurt hadn’t been _that_ close in high school. “He was dealing with a lot of shit, I think,” was all she could say.

Sam on the other hand flatly refused to talk about what had happened suffice to tell Blaine, again, that he’d stuffed up but that everything would be fine because Mercedes Jones was coming to the rescue and she would make sure that Kurt would be okay.

 

_“What the hell, Sam?” Blaine had complained. “The man has a total meltdown in my office in front of me and you won’t tell me why?”_

_“It’s not that, Boss. It’s just, I sorta promised that I would never tell – it’s not my story to tell. Maybe one day - if he trusts you enough, he’ll tell you.”_

 

Blaine slumped back in his seat, his hands clasped under his chin, each of his elbows resting on the armrest as he contemplated that last statement of Sam’s.

 _I guess you’ll never know then, huh, Blaine? Because that man is never going to speak to you again let alone trust you with his worst secret._ Blaine wondered why the thought of Kurt never speaking to him again upset him more than he cared to acknowledge to his best friend, Nick.

 

The house lights in the theatre dimmed and an expectant silence settled over the audience. Principal Williams stepped up to the standing microphone in the centre of the stage in front of the heavy red stage curtains.

“Ladies and gentleman, it gives me enormous pleasure to welcome you to tonight’s opening performance of _Fiddler on the Roof_. It’s been too long since McKinley produced a school musical and to that end I must thank the man who has made this all possible. A graduate of the 2012 senior class, a graduate of the New York Academy for the Dramatic Arts and no stranger to the Broadway Stage - I give you this year’s director, Mr Kurt Hummel.”

Blaine clapped enthusiastically along with the other members of the audience as Kurt walked serenely towards the principal. As the two men shook hands and Peter clasped his other arm tightly on Kurt’s upper arm, Blaine wondered if he was the only one who spotted Kurt’s ever so slight flinch. The smile on Kurt’s face tightened briefly but Blaine could see that the man on stage closed his eyes briefly, seemed to collect himself and, as he turned to address the audience, the smile was once again broad and warm with pleasure.

“Good evening,” he greeted. “It’s been a while since I walked across this stage. In fact, the last time I did so was to collect my high school diploma. But before that, there were many times I strutted this stage in some form of costume or other. Be it in a fabulously hideous Lady Gaga outfit or even dressed creepily as Riff Raff from _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ \- ”

Kurt paused dramatically, looked down at his smart, yet conservatively tailored black suit and then, quirking an eyebrow at the audience continued, “All of which makes me think I might be over compensating tonight in this get-up.” He laughed along with the audience as he gestured to his outfit. “However, I wanted to take this opportunity to thank the parents of my cast. Thank you for lending me your teenagers for the last month or so. Together, I think we’ve created something special and I am grateful for your encouragement and support. You can have them all back on Thursday night!” The audience laughed and clapped appreciatively.

“I’d also like to thank Mr Williams and the Board of Governors for the financial assistance and to all the members of the faculty who have been so supportive of me ...”

As they swept through the audience, Kurt’s eyes landed on Blaine as he came to the end of that statement and his speech faltered.

“… um … during rehearsals.”

Blaine’s steady but enigmatic gaze held fast to Kurt’s and the latter found it difficult to drag his eyes away from the handsome coach. Willing himself to speak normally, Kurt invited the audience to sit back and enjoy the show. The spots blacked out and Kurt left the stage under cover of darkness as the opening bars of the music began to play.

 

About forty-five minutes into the First Act, Haydn, in the lead role as Tevye, together with Simon, Scott and Wolf along with several other “villagers” were singing “ _To Life_ ” when the unthinkable happened. Without the slightest warning, the entire auditorium was plunged into darkness. From his position at the back of the theatre, Kurt looked around in astonishment toward the Sound Booth but he could see absolutely nothing. Hastily, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone just as many others were doing the same and faint pinpricks of light began to fill the awful blackness.

Using the light from his phone, Kurt stumbled his way towards his light and sound technicians.

“What the hell is going on?” he hissed.

“Mr H, I have no idea!” replied Michael – a senior Kurt had trusted with the control board. “We’ve just lost all power.”

“Kurt?” It was Mr Williams’ voice in the darkness. “What’s going on?” he enquired and the panic in his voice clearly obvious.

“I don’t know, sir. Michael here says we’ve lost power.”

Kurt was flipping switches desperately on the control board but there was no response. “This is not happening,” he whispered. “Dear heaven, tell me this isn’t happening!”

“Um, Peter? Kurt?” It was Blaine’s voice and Kurt looked up exasperated.

“What?” he demanded testily.

“Um … the lights are out in the entire school. The corridor outside is in darkness and there’s no power at all, anywhere,” Blaine explained calmly.

Peter Williams whipped out his cell phone and pressed 7 on speed dial. “I’ll get the Maintenance Crew to look into it immediately,” he promised and walked away to conduct his conversation.

“Mr H? What are we going to do?” Michael’s assistant – a junior named Sven - wanted to know.

Kurt took a deep breath and looked steadily at Blaine who was just as concerned as the young student technician.

“We are going to perform,” announced the former Broadway star boldly.

Kurt carefully made his way towards the front of the auditorium using the light from his own phone and the light cast by those in the audience as well to ensure his feet didn’t trip down the stairs. The hubbub of noise quietened down as people could see him move onto the stage and gather the bewildered teenaged actors around him.

“In the middle of a similar crisis, a former captain of the McKinley Glee Club once said, ‘The show must go … all over the place’ and that’s what we’re going to do right now. We’re going to … go on. We’re going to stand here in front of your parents and friends and we’re going to give them the songs of _Fiddler_.”

“But Mr H, the orchestra can’t see for shit,” pointed out Wolf.

“Yes, thank you for that insight, Wolf – and you’re right, they can’t see for shit so we’re going to sing without instruments; only your voices.”

Kurt didn’t allow the cast any further discussion as he turned to face the audience once more.

“We have a maintenance crew looking into the problem and we trust it will be resolved fairly quickly,” he announced calmly, hoping nobody picked up the slight tremor in his voice. “However, in the meantime, we invite you to sit back down and sing along with us.”

The audience quickly sat again, intrigued with the new development and, with lights from cell phones trained on the teenagers and their director on stage, were treated to an _a cappella_ version of every song in the _Fiddler_ musical. Blaine’s row of teachers immediately took to the idea and belted out the songs along with the cast which encouraged parents and others around them to do the same.

For about half an hour, Kurt and his cast kept the audience entertained in the dark until, just as suddenly as they had gone out, the lights flickered back on and the auditorium erupted with applause.

With a ten minute intermission to allow the cast to regroup, Kurt sent his actors and actresses out there once more and they performed with aplomb. The audience’s appreciation was shown in a standing ovation at the end of the finale and by the time the last person had left the campus, Kurt was finally alone in the auditorium. He had waved Mercedes away with Sam claiming he was too exhausted to join them at _Breadstix_ for a late dinner.

 

Alone with his thoughts, he sat on the very edge of the stage, feet dangling down into the orchestra pit. It was deadly quiet so the rustle of the side curtains drew his attention immediately and he looked up to find Coach Anderson standing hesitantly in the doorway, his hands behind his back.

“Can I come in?” he asked politely.

“Sure,” replied Kurt quietly. “I didn’t think that anyone was left in the building.”

“I just put Santana into a car with my friends, Nick and Jeff; not sure that was a good thing, though. They might not ever forgive me.” Blaine huffed out a laugh as he walked towards Kurt still with his hands behind his back.

“They did say to tell you that the show was phenomenal and that a cappella stunt you pulled during the blackout was freaking awesome.” Blaine shrugged. “Jeff’s words,” he explained. He didn’t add that Jeff had declared that Kurt had “balls of steel” to pull that off.

“Freaking awesome, huh?” Kurt repeated. “I’ve never been so angry and disappointed in my entire life. What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know, Kurt. Peter said the Maintenance Manager was going to meet with him first thing tomorrow to report on what they found and what they fixed. I’m just glad they did manage to get the power back on for you. The musical was fantastic.”

“Really?” Kurt seemed astonished at Blaine’s compliment. “You thought it was good?”

Blaine was surprised that Kurt appeared to be unsure of his accomplishment despite the resounding applause from the audience.

“Yes! Yes, of course it was. Um …” Blaine brought his hands out from behind his back presenting the roses to Kurt. “Um, these are for you, Kurt.”

“For me?” repeated Kurt, dumbfounded as he stared at the bunch of roses in Blaine’s hands. “But, why?” he asked.

Blaine smiled half-heartedly. “Well, I wanted to say ‘break-a-leg’ before the show but, in the light of our most recent argument, I didn’t think you’d want to see me before the show so I …”

“Blaine, please – I’m sorry,” Kurt interrupted and he hung his head slightly. “Last week, in your office, I may have over-reacted.”

“Nah, no apologies needed. You were stressed. Hell, I totally get that - I understand stress. Please accept the flowers, though,” Blaine brushed aside Kurt’s apology and held the roses out towards Kurt.

“Thank you,” said Kurt, as he took them from Blaine and held them up to his nose, appreciating their sweet fragrance. “It’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Can I walk you out?” Blaine asked, gesturing towards the door. “You must be exhausted.”

“Yeah,” agreed Kurt, suddenly bone weary. “Yeah, I am.”

Side by side, they began to walk towards the exit door.

“It never ceases to amaze me, Blaine, how much you surprise me.” Kurt commented as they reached his car and Blaine looked at him quizzically. “Tell me, how does a former football player know the theatre expression ‘break-a-leg’?”

“What?” scoffed Blaine, “You think nobody ever wished the lead singer of the Dalton Warblers would actually break a leg and lose his solo spot?”

“Ah, yes,” giggled Kurt. “I can just imagine how much.”

A grin broadening on his face, Blaine enjoyed the novel sound of Kurt’s mirth. Really, he’d never heard a sound as rewarding as Kurt’s giggle. It was adorable; really, _he_ was adorable. As Kurt pulled out of his parking spot, a tired, yet satisfied smile on his face, he waved goodbye gently at Blaine who stood frozen in position on the asphalt of the teachers’ parking area, his hand raised in farewell.

 _Shit_!

The realisation hit Blaine like a thunderbolt from the sky.

 _I’m falling for this man_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Interception

**Interception**

_**A pass that's caught by a defensive player, ending the offense's possession of the ball.** _

 

 _Fiddler on the Roof_ at William McKinley High School was performed without a glitch over the next two nights and the cast members received resounding and much-deserved standing ovations each evening from their appreciative audiences. Kurt was unbelievably happy with the success of the musical, as was Mr Williams and the Board of Governors.

However, when Kurt was called into the principal’s office to discuss the lighting debacle of opening night, his joy was somewhat tempered by the sight of a grim-faced Blaine sitting in the other chair facing the principal’s desk. Unsure of why Blaine was in the room and why he wouldn’t make eye-contact, Kurt cautiously took his place in the remaining vacant chair.

“Mr Hummel,” began Peter Williams, “I’ve asked Coach Anderson to be here for this meeting as this matter concerns him as well or, at the very least, it concerns his team.”

Kurt looked towards Blaine in confusion – how could the lighting disaster of his opening night have anything to do with Blaine’s football team? Blaine sat hunched forward in the chair; his elbows resting on either side of the chair’s armrests and his chin resting on his locked hands. Years of theatre training allowed Kurt to interpret the man’s body language accurately. Blaine was stressed, angry even and appeared to be trying really hard to rein in his emotions.

His eyes flitting between the principal sitting opposite him and the stone statue of a man beside him, Kurt asked intrigued, “How? um… how so?”

“When I met with the Maintenance Manager yesterday, he revealed that the main power switch had been flipped,” Peter informed Kurt gravely.

“Okay, but how does that -” Mr Williams held up his hand requesting Kurt to wait until he’d finished explaining.

“The main power switch is located in a locked cabinet in the Electrical Room adjacent to the gymnasium,” continued the principal.

“I actually didn’t know that,” mused Kurt thoughtfully. “But, why...” he broke off as the principal continued to speak.

“When Mitch and his crew got there on Tuesday evening during the blackout, they found that the room had been broken into. The lock on the door had been damaged, the cabinet had been forced open and the power switch flipped, resulting in the total blackout in the school.”

“You’re saying it was deliberate?” Kurt was aghast and looked to Blaine for confirmation but the coach still would not make eye contact and simply stared straight ahead, fixing his attention on the painting behind the principal’s desk.

“Obviously, Mitch’s main focus that night was to get the power back on so that your show could continue. He really only started investigating yesterday.”

“And?” Kurt was more than interested in the next piece of information. “What did he discover?”

“Ben, one of the late-night janitors, reported seeing a group of boys hanging around the gym after the musical had started. When he questioned them, they said they were doing some weight training and would be gone within the half hour.”

“O-kay,” said Kurt slowly. “And, are you saying you don’t believe them?”

“No, we don’t,” admitted Peter. “Blaine and I have had them in and questioned them but they claim to know nothing about the power cut at all.”

“You _and Blaine_ questioned them? Then, they’re ... are they - ? ”

“Yes, Kurt.”

Finally, Blaine spoke. He turned towards the musical director and Kurt was surprised to see that the man’s eyes were glistening wet. He continued softly, “We think some of my football players sabotaged your musical.”

************************************************************************************************************************

“Honestly ‘Cedes, I don’t know how I managed to get out of that office _and_ retain my dignity at the same time!” Kurt spoke loudly over the general din of the noisy bar.

“Well, spit it, Boo. What did you say?” she wanted to know.

“I remember…” Kurt paused thoughtfully, “I stared at Blaine for a really long time. I think he said ‘Kurt?’ in a regretful, kinda sad way but I’m not sure because, eventually, I managed to drag my eyes off him, stand up and address the headmaster instead. I used my _most_ offended but _awfully_ grown up, mature voice tone, you know.”

Mercedes giggled as Kurt clambered unsteadily off the bar stool and stood beside her, in an attempt to imitate himself in the headmaster’s office. His head held high and his mouth pulled tight, he stated, “I have no doubt you will find the culprit, Mr Williams, and when you do, I expect that justice will be served.”

Kurt giggled and took a sip of his drink. “Or something like that and then I swept out of the room with my head held high. Rachel would have been so proud. It was an epic departure without being an actual total storm-out.”

Mercedes put her glass back down on the bar’s counter and looked up at her friend, her expression serious now.

“Kurt, Sam rang me. He told me that Blaine is devastated that you wouldn’t talk to him afterwards.” Mercedes watched as her drinking partner digested that new piece of information.

“He ran out of Peter’s office after me, calling for me to stop. I _did_ stop, ‘Cedes. I turned around and looked at him.” Kurt stopped talking as the bar room faded away leaving him once more facing Blaine in the corridor outside the administration offices.

 

_“No, Blaine, Don’t. You have absolutely nothing to say that I want to hear right now. Your football team deliberately ruined my opening night. I don’t think I‘ll ever be able to forgive that.”_

_His voice was deceptively quiet, the anger and bitterness bubbling ominously at the surface. As he turned his back on Blaine and walked away, Kurt heard the distraught coach promise to find the culprit and punish him appropriately._

 

 

Kurt swayed forward and Mercedes caught him as he stumbled. “Hey, Boo, maybe it’s time to slow down on the drinks, huh?” she cautioned.

“No, ‘Cedes, not at all,” replied Kurt his tongue slurring over some of the words. “We’re going to drink until my head and my heart forget that, yet again, a football player has ruined my life.”

Mercedes helped him sit down on the barstool again and brushing his hair out of his eyes, she cupped his cheek and murmured softly, “And why is it I can’t help think you’re talking about the coach and not some random prankster?”

“Bartender!” yelled Kurt rolling his eyes at her. “Another for the lady and me, please. We be celebrating!” He turned around in his stool to face his friend, “Come on, ‘Cedes, we’re gonna celebrate the fact that you totally won over that uptight dance director here in Westerville and he’s agreed to let you hire his dance corps for your new video.”

The bartender placed fresh drinks in front of them and Mercedes reflected on how they’d ended up at _this_ particular bar in Westerville on a Saturday night.

When she’d asked Kurt if he would drive the two-hour journey to Westerville with her to see Mr Lowell, he had wanted to head out after school on Friday afternoon but she’d declined explaining that Sam had invited her to the game that evening.

“It’s a big one for them, Kurt and I’d like to be there for Sam. You should come too,” she suggested.

“Hell, no! Mercedes, I won’t be setting foot at a football game in my life ever again.” Kurt’s reply was vehemently adamant and, in Mercedes’ opinion, not entirely unexpected. “No, I’ll spend the evening with my dad and Carole and then, perhaps you and I could head out to Westerville late Saturday afternoon?” he suggested as an alternative.

It was Mr Lowell who had recommended they meet at the _C Note_ _Bar_ in Westerville and, once he and Mercedes had concluded their business, Kurt had agreed to stay a while longer because, before he departed, the dance corps director had promised them a great evening of entertainment from a musician he knew who played there regularly on a Saturday.

“To you, Mercedes Jones,” toasted Kurt, “my fabulously successful friend. Congratulations on securing the dance corps for your new video. Congratulations on your new video. Congratulations on your new album. Congratulations on your …”

Kurt would have continued to find many things for which to congratulate Mercedes had she not interrupted him with a couple of her own.

“And to my friend, Kurt, the fabulously successful musical director – and, wait for it -” She held her hand up to prevent him from interrupting her. “- and might I add _the_ most successful McKinley High as ever seen?”

“Well, that I cannot deny,” agreed Kurt and, giggling ridiculously at one another, they saluted one another by chinking their glasses and then they drank deeply.

As Kurt replaced his glass on the bar counter, a voice interrupted all conversations in an attempt to garner everyone’s attention.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and uh … others,” the tall, blonde-haired man at the microphone looked around and winked mischievously. “Welcome to _The C Note_ – the best little piano bar in Westerville, even if I say so myself - ”

“You’d be a little biased, Jeff!” shouted out a cheerful patron seated at a table fairly near the raised platform upon which the speaker stood.

“And, that I might be, Trent, thank you for that,” agreed the man, _Jeff_ _apparently_ , sweeping back a long, unruly fringe from off his forehead. “Anyway – it’s Saturday night and you all know what that means, don’t ya?”

The crowd began to bang on the tables and roar their approval while Mercedes and Kurt, clearly _newbies_ to the bar’s Saturday night entertainment, looked around in bewilderment. Kurt raised his eyebrows in a look that Mercedes immediately recognised as his standard “ _What now?”_ expression.

“Fresh from yet another win last night –claiming the title, Division Champions for his team and securing them yet another a place in the State Championships, I give you Lima’s very own celebrity coach …”

Kurt looked wide-eyed at Mercedes – the word “No” forming on his lips just as Jeff yelled into the microphone, “Blaine Anderson!”

Kurt was astonished to see McKinley’s head football coach, dressed casually in dark denim jeans and a crisp white button down shirt, take to the stage, shake hands with Jeff and make his way to the piano.

“Come on, Mercedes, we’re going,” Kurt announced, standing up but, as he wobbled unsteadily on his feet, Mercedes grabbed his arm and pushed him back down onto his barstool again.

“Nah uh, Boy! You sit your stroppy li’l ass right down again! I wanna hear this.”

Fortunately, they were far away from the raised platform where a spotlight was now shining on Blaine at the piano and Kurt calculated that neither he nor Mercedes would be seen by Blaine. So, reluctantly, he settled back onto his stool while raising his arm at the bartender and gesturing for yet another round for himself and Mercedes.

“Thank you,” said Blaine from his seated position in front of the piano. “It’s always good to be invited back to my buddy’s bar! Has everyone met Jeff?”

The crowd roared appreciatively and Jeff waved to Blaine from where he’d moved off the raised platform to stand at the side. Kurt noticed a dark-haired man, grinning cheerfully, grab Jeff around the waist and pull the blonde man close to his chest.

 _Clearly that couple must be Blaine’s friends_ , _Nick and Jeff,_ decided Kurt from his safe position at the bar but Blaine’s voice interrupted further thought.

“It’s good to be back here again this evening, folks. Perhaps your week has been a bit like mine, huh? Full of ups and downs? Some incredibly high highs and some terribly low lows? One minute you feel you actually _are_ the king of the world and the next you feel lower than the lowliest bug?”

People around Kurt murmured in agreement and he found himself, raising his glass, saying softly to Mercedes, “I’ll drink to that.” She grinned at him in understanding.

“As much as I enjoy, no strike that – as much as I _relish_ , the football field, the game and the wins -” At this very honest admission from Blaine, everyone laughed but he continued, somewhat seriously, gesturing with his head to the grand piano in front of him, “This baby here, remains my first love. And in times of trouble she comes through for me – speaking words of wisdom. So, sit back and enjoy; this come from my heart to yours.”

While he had been speaking to the crowd, Blaine had been running his hands lovingly up and down the piano’s keyboard. Kurt recognised the exceptional talent as soon as Blaine measured out a couple of chords and launched into his first song, none other than _Let It Be_ by The Beatles. But, it was the man’s voice that stopped Kurt’s hand on its way to his mouth; the glass, filled with Kurt’s favourite beverage, completely forgotten as Kurt pictured sweet, velvety thick honey dripping slowly down into the microphone as Blaine sang meaningfully, his eyes closed.

“Boo, he’s good,” Mercedes whispered and Kurt was gracious enough to nod in agreement.

“He is, ‘Cedes. He really is.”

 

 

“Nick, don’t look now but have a quick peek at the couple at the end of the bar.” Jeff whispered into his boyfriend’s ear. Doing the exact opposite, Nick turned around immediately to have a look.

“Nicky!” admonished Jeff and cupped the man’s cheek pulling his gaze away. “I told you, don’t look now! You’ll make it obvious we’re looking at them.”

Nick placed his hands on Jeff’s waist and turned them both around so that Jeff’s back was to the bar and he was facing it. Planting soft, gentle kisses on Jeff’s neck exposed above the collar of his shirt, Nick’s eyes ran reconnaissance up and down the bar.

“Mmmm,” he murmured into Jeff’s ear, “and what am I looking at specifically, Blondie?”

“You’re… um …You’re … ah shit, Nicky, I can’t concentrate when you do that in my ear,” complained Jeff.

He pulled away from Nick with a laugh. “I think Kurt is at the bar. He’s here with that woman we saw with him at the musical. Do you remember? I don’t know why but she looks so familiar to me.”

Nick, nuzzled at Jeff’s throat again as he paid more careful attention to the couple. He needn’t have worried about his careful surveillance being observed as both Kurt and the woman he was with appeared to be completely mesmerised by Blaine on the stage.

“Yep, I think you’re right, Angel – that’s definitely Blaine’s Kurt. Do you think Blaine knows he’s here?”

“I doubt it – he would have said something to me. I asked him earlier if he’d seen Kurt again since that disastrous meeting in the principal’s office but Blaine said that he hadn’t because he’d been too busy with preparations for last night’s game.”

“Mmm,” pondered Nick. “What say you and I go make the rounds, Angel, and greet your lovely patrons, huh?” Nick suggested with a slow, sly wink.

“What an excellent idea, my Love,” responded Jeff enthusiastically and he moved out of Nick’s arms but held on fast to his boyfriend’s hand as they slowly made their way towards the bar, stopping every now and then at a table to ascertain and ensure everyone’s enjoyment and comfort.

Eventually, the two of them made it to the bar where Jeff signalled the bartender for a drink for himself and Nick. As he leaned over Kurt to reach the drinks, he appeared to notice the man for the first time.

“Kurt?” he asked feigning surprise. “It _is_ Kurt, isn’t it?”

Reluctantly, Kurt dragged his eyes away from Blaine’s face and looked up, shocked at being recognised by name but also somewhat annoyed that his enjoyment of Blaine’s music had been interrupted.

“Um yes; that’s me,” he replied cautiously at the grinning man beside him.

“Oh, I thought so! Nicky, I was right. It _is_ Kurt,” Jeff announced as Nick smiled indulgently at his boyfriend and then, offered a hand to Kurt in formal greeting.

“Nick,” he supplied along with his hand. “I’m Nick and this is my lovely Jeff. Blaine invited us to your musical. We were there on Tuesday evening. It was awesome.”

By now, Mercedes had swung round and looked on interestedly as Kurt mustered his manners to reply.

“Nick and Jeff, of course! Blaine mentioned that you’d been there. Thank you for the compliments. The kids worked really hard and I was very pleased with their performance,” Kurt managed and then, belatedly remembering more social etiquette, gestured to Mercedes, “This is my friend, Mercedes Jones.”

“No way!” Jeff spluttered over his drink. “ _This_ is _the_ Mercedes Jones? Oh honey, I have your ‘Hell to the No’ album and … Oh my goodness, this is so exciting.”

Nick grinned yet again, as Jeff scooted Nick out of the way so he could get closer to Mercedes and quiz her excitedly about her next album.

“My Jeff,” explained Nick quietly to Kurt, shrugging his shoulders.

“No, no, I get it,” reassured Kurt kindly. “I’ve known Mercedes almost all my life; sometimes it’s hard for me to remember that she has this incredibly large fan-base.”

“Yeah,” Nick nodded in agreement. “That was what it was like with us and Blaine.”

“Oh?” queried Kurt. “What do you mean?”

“Blaine, Jeff and I – we all hung out together all through high school. We played football together; we were Warblers together. Blaine and I even shared a room in the dorms. We were all hellava close.”

“I can imagine,” agreed Kurt, intrigued to learn a bit more about Blaine.

“I guess we all knew that he would be the one to go far but we didn’t realise just how bright his flame would burn and, when he was bought by the _New England Patriots_ , quickly becoming a household name, it was very weird for us.”

“I don’t … I don’t really follow football, I’m afraid, so his was never really ever a name, as such, in _my_ household so I really don’t know him but I gather playing for the … what is it ..?” Kurt searched for the team name.

“The _Patriots_ ,” supplied Nick quickly.

“Yeah, right, them,” continued Kurt. “I take it, playing for them was a big deal, huh?”

“Oh shit, Kurt, you have no idea! Obviously, he played college football but once he qualified from university, just about every team in the nation put in a bid for him. He was really excited about playing for the _Patriots_. We were all so damn proud of him.”

“So, how come he - ”

But Kurt’s question was interrupted by Jeff. “Blaine’s set is just about done – why don’t you two come backstage with us to greet him?” he offered.

Kurt stood up quickly and this time he did not sway on his feet. “No,” he replied tersely, “we can’t. We should be heading back to Lima. It’s a long drive.”

“Aw, Kurt, I’m sure Blaine would want to say hi when he learns that you’re here,” pleaded Jeff pretending to have no knowledge of the quarrel between the two men.

“No, Jeff; really no. Blaine won’t want to see me, trust me. And please, you can’t tell him we were here,” Kurt implored.

Nick attempted a compromise. “Kurt, look, whatever - ”

“No, Nick, please? It’s a … a mess between us and if you tell him I was here, it’ll just complicate things even more,” Kurt insisted and grabbed Mercedes’ hand.

“Thanks for the lovely evening, Jeff – your place is great!” Mercedes offered in farewell.

“Some other time then, maybe?” Jeff begged, hopefully.

“Yeah, yeah maybe,” Kurt made no promises as he manoeuvred Mercedes between the tables at the back and, having first collected their coats, pushed her out the door and into the parking lot.

Watching them go, Nick pulled Jeff into a cuddle. Jeff glanced back at the stage where Blaine was bringing Elton John’s _Your Song_ to a close.

“Nicky, what are we going to do about those two?” he sighed settling against Nick’s side.

“The path of true love never did run smooth, Angel. We’re just going to have to let the two of them run the distance and play the game.”

 

 


	9. Huddle

**Huddle**

_**When the players on the field come together to discuss strategy between plays** _

 

At his desk three days later, Kurt scrolled through the Theatre Reviews section on the dedicated Broadway website, his hand absent-mindedly wiping away a runaway tear that slid silently down his cheek. Apparently, his understudy had stepped into Kurt’s empty shoes “ _easily and effortlessly_ ” according to one report and was “ _set to make this unique role completely his own_ ” praised yet another.

 _Ah, theatre – you are a fickle mistress_ , Kurt mused as he sighed heavily, continuing to read the rapturous reviews – each one, a sharp knife twisting into his already damaged and hurting heart. As he reached for his coffee cup, his cell phone buzzed with an incoming message. Abandoning the coffee for the phone, Kurt read the urgent message from Mercedes.

**KH, can you get hold of Sam for me? He isn’t answering and I desperately need to speak to him. Please find him if he’s still there and tell him to call me. Thanks. MJ**

Wondering what the emergency could be, Kurt frowned but was already getting up and heading out the door intent on solving his friend’s problem before he stopped to think about where he would actually have to search for Sam. The athletic fields were empty and, as Kurt looked down at his watch, he realised why. It was pretty late in the afternoon and the after-school activities had ended some time ago. Kurt himself had dismissed his Glee Club over an hour ago. He had intended to spend an hour or so preparing their set list for Sectionals but, instead, he had become engrossed in the website, catching up on the gossip and news of the theatre community he’d left behind in New York.

 

Standing outside the gym entrance, Kurt took a deep breath to deliberately steady his racing heartbeat. Tentatively, he pushed open the outer door and stepped into the foyer.

“Sam?” he called out, his voice echoing in the silence that answered him. He took a couple of steps forward and pushed open one of the double metal doors leading into the gym hall itself. Popping just his head in, he noted that it was empty and withdrew quickly, enormously relieved. Measured steps took him toward the coach’s office where outside the closed door Kurt took in another deep breath before rapping on the frame with his knuckles.

“Sam?” he called out again, just a little louder than before.

There was no reply so Kurt turned the handle of the door and, when it swung open, entered the office with Sam’s name once more on his lips.

Although the office was empty, scattered around the room were definite signs of life. A grey duffle jacket hanging on one arm of the coat rack positioned in the far corner of the room and the red sports bag, with the name ANDERSON embroidered across the side just underneath the McKinley logo, which rested on the two-seater sofa, bore testimony to the fact that someone, probably Blaine, was still around.

Kurt’s eyes were drawn to the trophy cabinet which lined the wall opposite the door where he stood. Three glass shelves were stacked with all manner and size of trophies and Kurt’s eyes widened in astonishment. Although he had heard Blaine recount their past victories at the launch assembly, it was quite something to see tangible proof of the team’s prowess on display.

A vibrating sound suddenly disturbed the silence and once he’d overcome his initial surprise, Kurt traced it to a cell phone lying beneath an open newspaper on the desk. Mercedes’ smiling face illuminated the screen announcing her incoming call. Kurt realised that he had probably found Sam’s phone but was reluctant to answer the call and speak to Mercedes on the off-chance he was wrong. Instead, he watched as the call eventually ended, automatically going to voicemail, Kurt assumed, which was when he picked it up to place it on top of the open newspaper.

He gasped audibly when he caught sight of the photograph splashed across what was obviously the open sports page. There was no denying that the handsome, curly-haired football player pictured grinning quietly to himself with eyes modestly downcast and holding his helmet off to the side was none other than Blaine Anderson.

Fascinated, Kurt leaned forward to get a closer look. In the photograph, Blaine was dressed in a navy blue football shirt with a large number 12 emblazoned on the front. His hands were gloved and there were black smudges under his eyes.

 _Damn it!_ Kurt thought, shaking his head in frustration. _The man is impossibly gorgeous!_

The jarring sound of what might have been a door slamming somewhere in the building jerked Kurt back to reality and he straightened up, turned around and headed out the way he had come. Once more in the foyer, he turned left and made his way towards the locker rooms, hoping to find Sam inside pumping the footballs. To his dismay the locker rooms and showers were all empty as well. It was clear that the janitors had already been and gone and the place was deserted.

 _Damn it, Sam – where can you be_? Kurt wondered as he walked down a dimly-lit corridor towards an area he remembered as the weight training room. He came to a standstill outside the door as he heard the sound of heavy rhythmic thumping and groans coming from inside. Eyebrows raised high in curiosity, he peered in through the small square glass window and stopped breathing.

Dressed in ridiculously short black shorts and a black tank, with red boxing gloves on his hands, his back to the door, Blaine Anderson was beating the living crap out of a large, black punching bag which hung suspended from the ceiling. The bag was valiant in its attempts to retaliate and swung back from each ferocious knock with fierce determination but was quickly dispatched again with another angry jab and punch from Blaine’s obviously experienced hands.

Kurt was struck dumb. _Is there anything you don’t do, well?_ he asked of the coach in his head while taking in the sight of Blaine’s rippling back muscles stretching in exertion.

 _Well, this is creepy isn’t it?_ Kurt berated himself. _I’m supposed to find Sam and instead I’m standing here staring at this gorgeous man beating a bag to a pulp._

 _Yeah, well I’m not complaining_ , advised his mind.

 _Give me more visual_ , his eyes begged unashamedly.

 _Um, guys I’m going to need more oxygen_ , complained his heart.

 

Just as Kurt was about to drag his eyes away from the window and walk away to regain his sanity, Blaine stopped boxing and grabbed the bag on its final return swing. With the momentum of the swing, Blaine had turned around in the room and Kurt could now see the man properly. His face was streaked with sweat and tears.

_Wait what? Tears?_

Kurt’s mouth opened in silent protest just as Blaine’s forehead came to rest on the bag and by the way the man’s shoulders shook, Kurt recognised that Blaine was actually weeping.

_Shit!_

Having just punched the life out of a defenceless bag, the enormously successful head coach of McKinley Titans was crying into the punching bag in the school weight room.

_What the hell?_

Kurt had never been one to turn his back when someone was so clearly in need and despite their currently strained relationship, he quietly opened the door and stepped inside the room.

At the sound of the squeaking door, Blaine looked up in surprise and dipped his eyes in embarrassment when he recognised Kurt.

“Blaine?” Kurt spoke softly into the awkward silence that pervaded the room.

“Um,” Blaine coughed to regain some measure of control over his emotions and then continued, a little stronger.

“Mr Hummel, what are you doing here? Um, what can I do for you?” he asked, his well-mannered persona politely back in place yet his wet eyes belied his attempt at normality.

“I was looking for Sam, actually,” explained Kurt quickly. “Mercedes is trying to get hold of him but I discovered he’s left his phone here in your office.”

“Oh? Sam, huh?” Kurt could see Blaine was still slightly disorientated and struggling to regain his composure as he replied and _wait_ , _was that disappointment in his eyes_? “Yeah, um … he took a couple of the athletes for pizza.”

“Oh, okay; I guess I’ll just let Mercedes know,” responded Kurt and he took out his phone, shooting off a quick text informing his friend of Sam’s whereabouts.

While he did so, Blaine was shuffling backwards and forwards on his feet and trying unsuccessfully to wipe away a rogue tear with his fully-gloved hand. Putting his phone back in his jacket pocket, Kurt gestured towards Blaine’s hands.

“I could help you out of those, if you want? That is, if you’re - ”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m done.” Blaine conceded, his eyes still downcast though. “That would be very helpful, Mr Hummel.”

“Blaine,” sighed Kurt, somewhat frustrated with Blaine’s impeccable manners being raised as a barrier between them, “please call me Kurt.”

He stepped closer to the distressed, sweating man who held his hands forward in what Kurt considered to be a very vulnerable arrangement. Blaine turned his palms over, exposing the laces covering his wrists.

Steadily, Kurt held the eyes of the man opposite him until the coach lowered his and replied, “If you’re sure. I mean, we’re not really friends, … Kurt.”

“No,” replied Kurt softly, “we’re not and yet, somehow, I feel that is something we ought to rectify, don’t you?”

He unlaced the gloves swiftly and pulled the first one gently off Blaine’s left hand. When his fingers took hold of Blaine’s wrist to help loosen the tight grip of the glove, he was not prepared for the sharp intake of breath from the other man.

“I’m sorry – did I hurt you?” he asked in concern, looking at Blaine who was blushing profusely.

 _Dear heaven! Is there anything sexier than that soft pink blush colouring those cheeks_? Kurt shook his head in frustration as Blaine stuttered.

“No, um … no, not at all,” he managed to get out before reaching for a nearby hand-towel with his free hand. Furiously, he began wiping the sweat off his face as Kurt dealt quickly with the second glove.

“Thank you, Kurt. Thank you very much,” muttered Blaine, his head still covered by the towel. When he finally brought it off his head, his eyes caught Kurt’s staring back at him.

“You’re sad,” Kurt noted, deliberately not stepping away from Blaine who reached out to take the gloves out of Kurt’s hands. Blaine read the compassion evident in Kurt’s eyes.

 _Shit! Those eyes are gorgeous_. Blaine steadfastly swallowed down the rise of emotions that threatened to upset his thinly-veiled composure once again.

“Yes,” he agreed, quietly stepping away from Kurt and returning the gloves to the side bar. “I am a bit miserable but it’s nothing. Really, it’s actually nothing, Kurt.” He seemed insistent but Kurt’s curiosity was piqued.

“Blaine – I know I’m …um … difficult and I know we don’t have the best track record but can you … let me help? Let me be here for you?” entreated Kurt most earnestly.

Blaine fiddled with the towel and dragged it once more over his face to hide the quivering lip and threatening tears. Kurt smiled at him before those sad eyes disappeared beneath the towelling fabric and Blaine’s heart fluttered a little and, despite his best efforts, his eyes were watery again when he finally replied.

“Do you ever regret giving up Broadway for this?” he asked quietly and it was almost as though having articulated his thoughts and spoken the question out loud, Blaine gave himself permission to slump down against the wall until he was seated flat on the special black mat flooring, his arms coming to rest on his raised knees.

Kurt looked down at the black mat and, quickly evaluating the price of the trousers he was wearing, discarded the idea of sitting beside Blaine on the floor. Instead, he chose to seat himself carefully on the bench just off to Blaine’s left-hand side and, by placing his hands underneath his butt, he could protect his tailored trousers. Once settled, he looked quizzically at Blaine.

“By _this_ I assume you mean my dad and not McKinley High School, right?” he clarified and Blaine grimaced in mock humour.

“I guess that’s my answer, isn’t it?” Blaine countered. “Nothing would stop you from being there for your father in his time of need and you’ve willingly given up everything to be here.”

Kurt wasn’t sure that he understood where Blaine was going with this line of questioning. Why would Kurt’s situation reduce the coach to tears?

“Blaine?” he asked hesitantly, unsure of how to proceed.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine replied. “I shouldn’t compare my situation to yours. I bet you wish every day that your dad was healthy and well and that you hadn’t needed to leave your show.” Again, he buried his head in the towel. “I just wish I …” he mumbled into the thick fabric so Kurt couldn’t hear the rest of the sentence.

Swiftly, Kurt rose off the bench and gingerly knelt beside Blaine reaching tentatively to pull the towel away from the coach’s face.

“Blaine, what can I do to help you?” he asked gently. “I can see you’re hurting right now. Would it help to talk to me? I know we’ve been at each other’s throats since the start of the year but I can’t bear to see you so sad.”

Without thinking, Kurt reached towards the other man and brushed a tear away from Blaine’s cheek. Blaine sucked in a breath at his touch and, thinking his ministrations were unwelcome, Kurt withdrew his hand but, ever so quickly, Blaine brought up his own hand to capture Kurt’s and return it to his cheek which he allowed Kurt to cup once more. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the calming presence of the handsome young man beside him.

“What is ‘your situation’, Blaine? Why can you not compare yours to mine? What is so different between you and me?” Kurt questioned, seeking desperately to understand so that he could help.

There was silence in the weight room as Kurt sought Blaine’s eyes and read the conflict therein. Blaine’s usually bright hazel-brown golden eyes were stormy and glassed over with tears. Blaine took another deep breath and once more wiped the towel across his face as Kurt removed his hand from Blaine’s cheek.

“Kurt,” Blaine said in a much steadier voice.”I think I _would_ like to talk to you but I really do stink and you shouldn’t be sitting on this floor in those Marc Jacobs trousers.”

Kurt allowed a small grin to cross his face in appreciation for the recognition of his classic clothing choices.

Blaine pushed himself to his feet and then turned with his hand stretched out to assist Kurt up into a standing position. Kurt accepted Blaine’s hand and aid graciously and, once in an upright position, dusted down the back of his trousers with the back of his hand.

“I’m going to take a quick shower,” announced Blaine. “Would you maybe fire up the coffee machine in my office? It makes a pretty decent cappuccino and I could meet you there in, say about 10 minutes?”

As Kurt began to nod, Blaine gasped in shock and hastened to retract his offer.

“Unless you need to go? It’s late and you probably need to get back to your dad. Shit! I’m sorry Kurt. Please, please go. Don’t let me keep yoummmm _mph_.”

Kurt held up a hand to stop the flow from Blaine’s mouth but when that was unsuccessful and the coach didn’t stop, Kurt reached further and placed his hand lightly over the man’s mouth. Suddenly, the words dried up as Blaine’s eyes widened in surprise and the blush was back on his cheeks, brighter than before.

Noting that the apologetic spluttering had stopped, Kurt felt it was safe to remove his hand from Blaine’s mouth to assure the other man that he _did_ in fact have the time and that _no_ , he didn’t need to rush home since Carole was enjoying a rare day off.

“Go shower,” he instructed, pushing Blaine out of the room and “I’ll go make magic in your office with your coffee machine.”

 

Just slightly more than ten minutes later, Blaine pushed open the door to his office. The warm rich aroma of freshly made cappuccino rushed to greet him and he inhaled deeply.

“Wow! That smells good,” he spoke quietly, his hand still on the door’s handle.

Kurt turned from where he was standing beside a small table, pushed right up against the wall below the window overlooking the football fields, where the _delonghi_ coffee maker had been set up. He smiled at the sight of a freshly-showered Blaine in the doorway, admiring the dark denim jeans that fit snugly and the red polo that clung to his chest that was obviously still damp in places.

“Okay, clearly I am not making half as much as you do at this school because this machine is a dream and I am seriously questioning my life choices,” Kurt teased, handing Blaine a mug of foamy goodness.

Blaine grinned and Kurt was pleased to see a glimmer of the former sparkle flash briefly in the coach’s eyes.

“Would you believe it? Sam and I won it about two years ago. There was a competition at the _Lima_ _Bean_ and we entered - more as a joke than anything else, really,” he explained.

“Oh, what did you have to do?” asked Kurt intrigued.

“It was a sort of karaoke thing,” Blaine continued. “We happened to be there early one evening after a football practice ran late and we kinda ended up singing together, just for the hell of it.”

“Well, you’ve both got excellent voices so it stands to reason that you would have won,” remarked Kurt carelessly. “What did you sing?”

“We sang David Bowie’s _Heroes_. Sam played the guitar and we performed it as a sort of duet. Wait, hang on,” Blaine stopped and looked quizzically at Kurt, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “What do you mean _you’ve both got excellent voices_? You’ve never heard me sing. Or have you been downloading old Warbler YouTube videos, Kurt?” There was a light teasing tone in Blaine’s voice but he was genuinely curious.

“What? No, I …Of course not. Don’t be silly. That’s juvenile; I wouldn’t do that,” Kurt’s tongue was tripping over the words he was rushing to get out.

“But you seemed very definite in your appraisal of my singing ability and so-called talent, Kurt,” Blaine persisted.

“Alright, fine!” Kurt admitted reluctantly. “I _have_ actually heard you. This past weekend, on Saturday night, Mercedes and I were in Westerville – she had business to attend to.”

Kurt watched Blaine’s eyebrows lift in interest at the mention of Westerville. _Oh shit_ , he thought distractedly _; this is going to end badly and just when we seemed to be making progress._

“I … um … we ended up at a piano bar ...”

“The C Note?” Blaine interrupted quietly.

“Yeah, and well, I swear, Blaine - we didn’t know. I was just as surprised as Mercedes when we heard your friend Jeff introduce you. I wanted to leave immediately but Mercedes forced me to stay.”

“You wanted to leave? Why?” Blaine had moved completely into the room now and was standing close to Kurt who shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“Well, we … um … I was still angry about - you know - and I didn’t want to be embarrassed by you … um by you knowing we were there.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about Kurt,” Blaine’s tone was emphatic. “I’m the one who is completely embarrassed by what happened. Sam and I are trying our damnedest to find out who the culprit is. That’s why he’s out now with some of the team right now eating pizza. We figured we’d reel them in with loads of free junk food before making them spill their dark, deep secrets.”

Kurt was aghast. “Seriously? You really _are_ trying to find out who sabotaged my musical?”

“Of course, Kurt,” replied Blaine, somewhat surprised at Kurt’s astonished expression. I told you that I would find the culprit. Please trust me? I want to know who spoiled this for you as much as you do.”

“Thank you, Blaine – that means a lot to me. I’m really sorry about snapping at you in the corridor after that meeting too. I have a hard time curbing my temper and it’s not something I’m proud of at all.”

“No harm, no foul,” Blaine shrugged it off and gestured to the sofa. “Won’t you sit down?” Kurt took a seat gratefully and Blaine sipped his drink before settling on the sofa next to him.

“I’m so glad we cleared that up, Kurt. I’ve hated this tension between us,” he stated as he relaxed further into the sofa.

“Me too,” agreed Kurt thoughtfully sipping his drink as well. “Blaine – I know we’ve only known each other a few short weeks and have as of this moment only just agreed to a cease fire – so to speak- ” He looked up to find Blaine’s eyes staring intently at him. “But, um, can I ask: why were you so upset earlier?”

He watched as Blaine closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. Then he placed his mug down on the arm of the sofa, got up and walked towards his desk.

“I’m sorry, Blaine!” Kurt mistook his actions. “If I’m prying, you don’t have to tell me at all.”

Blaine picked up the newspaper from off his desk and turned back to face Kurt whose expression was one of alarm and concern.

“Kurt, hey! Relax, would you? I’m going to… that is… um … I’d like to talk to you about it if you don’t mind. I think of everyone I know _you_ may be the one person who might actually understand best of all.”

He resumed his seat beside Kurt and opened the newspaper between them so Kurt could see clearly the large double page spread detailing the _New England Patriots’_ continued spectacular journey to the NFL Super Bowl Final. Kurt pointed to the photograph of Blaine that he’d seen earlier.

“That’s you,” he stated rather unnecessarily.

Blaine nodded and Kurt was alarmed to see the coach’s eyes welling with tears again.

“Argh!” Blaine moaned. “I am so ridiculously stupid! It’s been four years. You’d think an article like this wouldn’t get to me at all after all this time. But it does. Damn it! It does so much!”

“What is it, Blaine? What’s wrong?” Kurt asked simply of the man beside him.

Blaine turned to face Kurt completely; his voice broken by the tears that flowed.

“I miss it, Kurt.” he whispered quietly. “I miss it so damn much.”

“Oh Blaine,” Kurt’s own broken heart understood the anguish contained in those few simple words.

He quickly leaned forward and placed his mug on the table beside the coffee maker and reached across the sofa to drag the weeping coach into his arms. Blaine succumbed to the torrent of emotions and allowed himself to be soothed by the calm man on the sofa with him, taking comfort in the fresh lavender scent of Kurt’s jacket. Kurt stroked a hand up and down Blaine’s back petting him as he wept on Kurt’s shoulder.

Time stood still as Kurt continued to soothe the distressed man in his arms. He couldn’t help inhale the apple scent of Blaine’s freshly shampooed hair as he held the curly-haired man close in his comforting embrace.

After long moments, the emotional storm passed and Blaine was able to detach from Kurt and move slightly out of his arms. His hand at his face, flustered and embarrassed, Blaine attempted to apologise.

“Crap, Kurt, I’m so sorry - ”

“No! Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, Blaine Anderson. Enough with the ‘sorries’ between us. I’m glad I could be here for you. Honestly, I am.” Kurt was emphatic.

Blaine stood up and retrieved a tissue from the box on his desk and, as he blew his nose, Kurt scanned the article for information.

“The writer wants to know where you are right now and wonders if your former team stands a chance in the final without you,” he noted. Glancing up at the coach, he smiled, “You were obviously quite something, huh?” Kurt had hoped for a small return smile in the face of the light teasing but Blaine shrugged his shoulders in a self-deprecating way.

Kurt nodded, convinced he was right.

“Of course you were,” he decided. “Says here that the last time the _Patriots_ reached this far was when you were still a part of the team but because of the accident you never made it to that game which they ended up losing. This is the first time since then that they have reached this level of the competition.”

Kurt put down the paper and looked up at Blaine who was now leaning against his desk facing Kurt, his arms wrapped tightly around his body as if to protect himself from something really awful coming his way.

“Blaine? What a happened to you?” Kurt asked quietly. “Why are you now a high school coach?”

Blaine exhaled slowly as he gathered his thoughts and then, began to explain.

“I was reckless and stupid,” he admitted and with a deep regretful sigh, he walked back to the sofa and sat down beside Kurt.

“My life, up until four years ago, was picture-postcard perfect. I had friends, talent, fame and I was on top of the world. My parents had accepted that I was gay – took them a while but once my football career took off, my dad didn’t seem to care who I chose to fall in love with as long as I played ball.”

Blaine grimaced and shrugged as Kurt raised his eyebrow.

“They were thrilled when I signed to play with the _Patriots_ after college and the team and I had been working towards the goal of the NFL finals for two years. The weekend before the game, Nick, Jeff and I were at a gay club somewhere in Boston – do you know, I don’t even remember what it was called. Anyway, we were drinking and having fun and all these boys were throwing themselves at me.”

Blaine stopped talking to wipe his eyes once more and Kurt pictured the scene in the bar knowing that if given half the chance, he would have totally lined up to throw himself at Blaine too.

“Since college,” Blaine continued, drawing Kurt’s attention reluctantly away from his imagination. “I’d had one or two hook-ups but no relationships – there just wasn’t time. Anyway, that night, there was one really determined guy. His name was Matt and he kept buying me drinks and chatting to me and making me laugh. We ended up on the dance floor and much later, when he eventually suggested we leave to find somewhere _quieter,_ I agreed.”

Blaine stopped talking, closed his eyes and inhaled again – deeply – somehow gathering the strength to continue relating his story.

“I think Nick was the only one sober that night because as we left, he warned me not to drive anywhere with Matt. But, apparently, I was too drunk or too stupid to remember his caution because I definitely got into Matt’s car. I don’t really remember much of the crash and although I was told the details afterwards, I never bothered to remember anything other than the fact that Matt was killed instantly and I was badly injured; so badly injured in fact that, despite three operations to correct my knee, I would never play professional football again.”

 


	10. Fair Catch

**Fair Catch**

_**The player returning a punt waves his extended arm from side to side over his head.** _

 

“No really, Sam, stop apologising. You didn’t interrupt anything at all.”

Blaine was having a hard time convincing his assistant coach that he had in fact _not_ interrupted “special Blaine and Kurt time” but the blonde was being deliberately obtuse.

“I’m just saying, Boss, that maybe we should have like a code, for example. Finn once told me that at college, when he and Puck shared a room, they’d place a tie on the handle of the door and then the other would know not to disturb because his roommate was ... you know … getting some action.”

Apparently, Sam was keen to compromise.

“For the love of all that is merciful, Sam Evans – we do not need a code! Nor do we need a system of any sorts to warn or to keep one another out of the office because neither one of us is entertaining in here for _that_ or any other purpose!” Blaine was adamant in his reply.

Sam quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” he asked, “Because it totally looked like you and my boy Hummel were - ”

“… were nothing!” interrupted Blaine, a little heatedly now, clearly exasperated with his friend. “You know what, Sam, don’t ruin this for me. Tonight was the first time this year that Kurt and I were able to have a conversation from start to finish without one of us flying off the handle and storming out in a temper. Just let me just have it, would ya?”

Sam sat down on the sofa and studied his friend who leaned back in his chair behind the desk. Blaine’s eyes were still slightly watery and swollen. Sam wondered just what he’d actually walked in on because as soon as he had entered the office, both Blaine and Kurt had immediately stood up from where they had been, in Sam’s opinion, seated very close on the sofa. Sam’s presence in the office had made Kurt step away from Blaine but Sam had caught how the man’s gaze lingered on Blaine for a full moment before he turned his attention to Sam, berating the blonde for leaving without his phone.

“Phone Mercedes!” was Kurt’s terse instruction accompanied by an angry index finger being waved in his front of Sam’s face as the man made to leave the office.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” Blaine offered quickly.

Sam had watched the two of them disappear out of the office and he’d heard the outer door slam once more before he had turned his attention to his cell phone and Mercedes Jones.

 

“O-kay, so just a friendly chat, then?” quizzed Sam.

“Yeah; he was in here looking for you and caught me … um ... I was taking out some frustrations on the punching bag in the weight room when he found me. We … uh… got to talking and eventually we had a drink together after I’d showered. I told him about … you know.”

“Well, I can only imagine he was very sympathetic and understanding,” Sam responded. “Kurt is incredibly compassionate. I remember how much he helped me with my little brothers and sisters when my parents lost our home in my junior year.”

“Yeah – he was very kind,” Blaine agreed and he closed his eyes as he remembered the feeling of being held close in Kurt’s arms, being comforted and soothed by the man.

“Anyway, I think I’ve got a lead of who our little trouble-makers are,” Sam’s voice penetrated Blaine’s memories and he jerked his head up to pay attention.

***************************************************************************************************************************

“Nah, it was just nice, you know?” Kurt explained to Mercedes later that evening on the phone. “We talked about stuff and he told me about the accident that ruined his professional career. He’s sweet ‘Cedes.”

“Sweet? Hell no, Boo, that boy is _capital D_ \- _Delicious_!” Mercedes was quick to improve Kurt’s observations. “You should totally ask him out!”

“No, uh ah, Mercedes; not you, too? Santana was all over me not so long ago, as well. He’s a - ”

“… football player. Yeah, I know. I get it, Boo. But Kurt, for how long are you going to let _that_ define you? How long is _that_ going to restrict your friendships and relationships and your happiness?”

Kurt was quiet for a long time on the other side of the phone and, wondering if he’d put the phone down on her, after an awkward amount of time, Mercedes prompted, “Kurt?”

“Yeah, I’m here, ‘Cedes,” Kurt replied quietly. “It’s just … I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Will I ever? Should I ever?”

“No, strangely enough, Boo, I do get it. I guess you’ll know when the time is right, huh?”

*************************************************************************************************************************

The following day, Kurt received an email requesting his presence at a meeting in the principal’s office after school. Once the freshmen in his eighth period English class had been dismissed, Kurt made his way down towards the administrative offices and waited patiently before being ushered into Peter Williams’ office by the elderly school secretary.

Unsurprisingly, Blaine was already there but when Kurt’s warm greeting was met with a tired, tight smile in return, Kurt couldn’t help the knot of unease that began to tighten in his stomach.

“Ah, Mr Hummel,” greeted the principal. “Have a seat would you?”

The man gestured to the same armchair Kurt had sat in the previous week when their last meeting had ended so disastrously. Kurt sat down gingerly in anticipation.

“We’ve managed to uncover the perpetrator of the sabotage on your musical lighting last week,” announced Peter.

Kurt’s eyebrows rose in interest. “Oh?” he remarked and then chanced a look at Blaine whose sad eyes turned to meet his.

“Yeah,” the coach beside him sighed. “Sam managed to loosen a few tongues over pizza yesterday evening and the boys let slip a few interesting details.”

The principal picked up the story. “Blaine rang me late last night and we agreed we would hold disciplinary interviews this morning and by 10h30 we had a confession,” he announced triumphantly.

“Okay,” replied Kurt carefully, “and who was it?”

“Randall Michaels.” The name came reluctantly off Blaine’s tongue.

“Unfortunately, he’s the Titans’ best - ” explained Peter.

“Why _unfortunately_?” interrupted Kurt, surprised.

It was Blaine who answered. “Peter and I agree that Randy should be suspended from the team for a month - ”

“…which means he’ll miss the homecoming game this weekend?” Kurt interrupted with his query and Blaine nodded.

“Yes, and the State semi-finals next week,” agreed Blaine.

“I’m sorry but I don’t know enough about your team, Blaine, what position does he play?” Kurt asked.

“He’s our kicker,” Blaine volunteered.

“And the best we’ve ever had,” added the principal rather sadly.

“And do you have someone who can take his place while he’s suspended?” Kurt probed.

“Well, Julian will have to do it,” replied Blaine.

“And is he any good?”

“No one’s as good as Randy,” declared Peter emphatically, “which makes this whole thing so damned tragic.”

“When you spoke to him, did he say why he’d done it?” asked Kurt. “What was his motivation behind attempting to ruin the musical for us?”

“Well, that’s the strange thing about it all,” said Peter.

“He _won’t_ say, Kurt,” Blaine turned fully in his seat now to look at Kurt earnestly. “He won’t tell us what prompted him to break the electrical cabinet’s lock and flip the switch.”

Kurt studied the coach in front of him and read the confusion and hurt in his eyes. Blaine must feel so betrayed, Kurt thought. _But by whom?_ he wondered. He leaned forward in the seat towards the coach.

“Blaine, tell me about Randy,” he invited generously and without surprise the man’s face lit up.

“Oh Kurt, he’s actually a really decent kid. Well, I’ve always thought so, at least. He’s been playing for me for three years. His dad’s quite tough on him, I think. He and I clashed a bit in my first year here, when I told him to watch the game from the stands and not the sidelines where he would shout confusing instructions at his son. Randy’s the youngest in a family of four boys – all of whom played football here but the team didn’t really do so well in those years so I guess his dad is pinning all his hopes on his youngest son.”

“I’ve met the parents several times over the years,” Peter added. “They are very conservative, religious people and we’ve had a few occasions where we’ve had to agree to disagree on certain issues.”

“I see,” said Kurt wiping his palms along the length of his thighs as he gathered his thoughts.

“I’d like to talk to this boy,” he announced.

Blaine looked at Kurt studiously. “Why?” he asked curiously.

“I believe he owes me an explanation,” Kurt rationalised simply.

“But Kurt, he wouldn’t tell _me_ , he wouldn’t tell _Peter_. In fact, none of the boys who were with him that night even know why he was so hell bent on ruining your opening night. What makes you think he’ll tell you?”

“I don’t know if he will, Blaine but I’d like to give him that opportunity,” said Kurt.

******************************************************************************************************************************

“Thank you for helping me with the dishes, Kurt,” Carole commented as she wiped the sink down and wrung out the cloth.

“It’s no problem, Carole,” Kurt replied as he closed the cupboard door having just placed the last of the dinnerware in their correct place inside.

Just then Kurt’s phone rang and he slid his hand into his trousers to retrieve it from his pocket.

“Blaine?” he answered quietly into the phone, “Hi.”

“I’ll be upstairs,” mouthed Carole, pointing upwards. Kurt nodded as Blaine responded on the other side of the phone.

“Kurt, are you able to tell me why I just received a call from Principal Williams who rang to inform me that Randy’s suspension has been rescinded?”

“Blaine .. I ..” began Kurt.

“You said you were going to talk to Randy, Kurt. Neither you nor Randy got back to me afterwards and now this call from Peter? Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to have my star kicker back for tomorrow’s homecoming game but seriously? I’d like to know what happened at your meeting.”

“Blaine, I’d like to tell you, honestly I would - ” responded Kurt.

“Well, I’m all ears,” invited the coach.

“But, it’s not something I’m comfortable doing over the phone, Blaine. Perhaps - ”

“Let’s meet at the _Lima Bean_ ,” suggested Blaine. “It’ll be my treat this time.”

“No! No, Blaine; I don’t want to be anywhere public,” asserted Kurt adamantly.

“O -kay,” Blaine sucked in a breath. “I could come to your house if you want?”

“Blaine, look it’s late. Perhaps, we can … tomorrow?”

“No,” sighed Blaine. “Look, with all due respect, Kurt, I need to know what’s going on. He’s one of my players, one of my boys, and I can’t let them run onto that field tomorrow night if I’m not 100% sure of them. If you don’t want me to come over to your house, would you at least consider coming over to mine? Santana’s out and won’t be back at all this evening, so I’ve got the apartment to myself. Privacy guaranteed – if that’s what you need.”

“Yeah, okay. I can do that,” Kurt agreed. “I’ll just let my dad and Carole know that I’m heading out. I’ll be with you in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Blaine replied before ending the call.

 

It was just under twenty minutes later when Kurt found a vacant parking bay close to the five-storey apartment block Blaine lived in with Santana. Inhaling deeply, he depressed the square buzzer button beside their apartment number, grinning at the name typed neatly beside the label APARTMENT 4B.

“Blaintana?” he teased a few minutes later as Blaine opened the front door on the fourth floor. “Seriously, Blaine?”

“It was entirely her idea,” he replied smiling cheerfully as he took Kurt’s jacket and scarf from him. “And it worked wonders to keep away the prying eyes of the paparazzi when I first got here although they soon lost interest in actually finding me. I very quickly became yesterday’s news after the accident.”

Kurt looked around the apartment. It was a warm, cozy place with lovely softly – coloured furnishings. His gaze took in the piano standing against the one wall of the living room and he remembered the version of Blaine he’d observed at Jeff’s bar not so long ago.

“Your place is lovely,” he complimented. “I’m impressed.”

“Yeah? Well thanks. Over the years, Santana and I have softened the edges of our different tastes and managed to find compromises in the interior design of the apartment. Can I get you something to drink? Whiskey? Wine?” Blaine offered.

Kurt declined. “I shouldn’t. I’ve got to drive back.”

“Coffee, then?” suggested Blaine but Kurt shook his head.

“Mmm … no thanks; coffee _this_ late will keep me up all night.”

“Perhaps a hot chocolate, then?” Blaine was relentless in his hospitality.

Kurt smiled at his host, allowing his eyes to travel over the casual sweatpants and tight white t-shirt. “You know? A hot chocolate sounds just perfect right now, thank you,” he acquiesced.

Kurt followed Blaine into the kitchen where the coach set about heating milk in a saucepan. Kurt stood beside the stove, leaning his back against the counter.

“Listen, Blaine – Randy told me some pretty heavy stuff today and I’m not going to break his confidence so I have to ask you to trust me on this one. I’m hoping that soon he’ll be able to tell you but it is _his_ story to tell.”

“But he ruined your opening night,” Blaine protested.

“Yes,” Kurt agreed. “Yes, he did and I made it very clear how I felt about that but Blaine there’s so much more to him and the story than a stupid high school prank.”

“Kurt? I can’t believe you’re calling what happened that night a ‘ _stupid high school prank’_? - ”

Blaine handed Kurt a mug of hot chocolate and the two of them settled opposite each other on the barstools at the island in the centre of the kitchen.

“You were beyond furious last week – with whoever messed up your opening night and – _and_ with me.” Blaine lowered his eyes.

Kurt took a sip of his drink and then placed the mug on the counter between them, his hands wrapped around the warmth the beverage offered. He looked steadily at Blaine opposite him.

“Blaine, please, I want to tell you something – something about _me_ and high school that might help you understand why I chose to forgive Randy today. It will also explain why I went ballistic in your office last week and why I’ve been so … so irrationally angry at you.”

Blaine realised that this was a pivotal moment for Kurt and a watershed moment for their burgeoning friendship. He reached across the small island counter top and took Kurt’s hand in his. Squeezing gently in comfort, he said, “Okay, Kurt – I’m listening.”

Kurt looked down at his hand enclosed in Blaine’s and then up at the hazel-nut orbs which were focused solely on him. He watched them soften and fill with compassion as Blaine tilted his head to the side and smiled gently in encouragement. Blaine’s thumb stroked across Kurt’s palm causing Kurt to breathe in deeply and exhale loudly.

“Wow, this is suddenly harder than I thought,” he said breathlessly.

“Kurt, look; it’s okay. You don’t _have_ to explain anything to me. Santana told me that from what she can remember, you had a rough time at school.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow at the man opposite. “ _Rough time_ , huh? Those are the words she used?” he asked.

“Yeah, I - ”

“It wasn’t _rough,_ Blaine. It was sheer utter hell on earth.”

Struck by the passionate intensity with which those words were delivered, Blaine recognised the defensive behaviour as Kurt withdrew his hand and brushed it across his forehead before he continued with his explanation.

“I was the only openly gay kid at McKinley back then and for some reason my very _existence_ seemed to annoy and offend one particular group of the school’s community.”

“The jocks,” guessed Blaine.

“Yeah – the jocks,” agreed Kurt grimly. “McKinley’s heroes – the almighty football players.”

Kurt stopped to sip his hot chocolate to quench his dry throat and Blaine waited patiently for him to resume.

“There was a time in my sophomore year when I had a crush on the boy who was the quarterback. I obviously wasn’t very discreet in my advances – I was young and foolish and had all these strange new feelings I didn’t quite know what to do with. And somehow in the midst of the bullying, he seemed to be a saviour.”

“A saviour?” questioned Blaine. “Why? Did he protect you from their taunts?”

Kurt shook his head and he got a faraway look in his eyes as his mind travelled back in time. “No, not really,” he replied. “He … um … he’d allow me to take off my Marc Jacobs jacket before they threw me in the dumpsters.”

“They what?” yelped Blaine. “Did you say they threw you in the dumpsters? What kind of sick behaviour is that?”

“Then, when I joined Glee Club,” Kurt ignored Blaine’s outrage and continued, “they would slushie us all on a regular basis.”

“And where was your _hero_ when all this was happening?” Blaine was stunned by the revelation but Kurt was silent. “So, not really a hero, then, huh?” Blaine determined sadly.

“It was my fault, I guess. Things kinda backfired on me when my dad married his mom and he moved in with us.”

Blaine stared at Kurt aghast. “Finn Hudson – your stepbrother? He was your crush?”

“Yeah, he was my first crush,” admitted Kurt quietly, his eyes downcast. “As I said, I was a fool.”

“And, I’m guessing he didn’t appreciate the compliment?” Blaine asked compassionately.

“No, not at all – It became really difficult but after some time, with my dad and Carole running interference, we began to learn to live around each other. He even joined Glee Club too.”

“And the bullying?” Blaine was curious. “Did it let up?”

Kurt lowered his eyes as he shook his head. “No; unfortunately, not at all. In my junior year, it became particularly bad. There was one guy who made it his sole business to make my life a living nightmare. He and his mates in their letterman jackets would surround me in the corridor, hurl insults and shove me against lockers. Although the Glee Club kids tried to protect me, there were times they just weren’t around and that’s when it got out of hand.”

Kurt stopped talking and ran his fingers up and down the mug which had long since gone cold. His eyes zeroed in on the black zig-zag pattern running from the lip to the base on the white mug in front of him.

“How bad, Kurt?” asked Blaine quietly into the silence of the kitchen. Kurt looked up hesitantly and met his concerned eyes.

“One time, they shoved me into a locker and jammed the door shut. The janitor let me out about an hour later.” Blaine’s lower jaw dropped in horror, his eyes wide with shock.

“Another time, they locked me in the porta-potty and a girl from the wrestling team rescued me – four hours later.”

By now, Blaine’s eyes were wet with tears. “Oh, Kurt, I’m - ”

“No!” interrupted Kurt immediately, “I don’t want your pity, Blaine. Don’t you dare pity me!”

“It’s not,” Blaine hastened to explain. “That is … this is _not_ pity, Kurt. I totally get that, really I do. I’m just so damn sorry you had to endure _that_ at the hands of ignorant scum.”

“That’s not the worst, Blaine.”

Blaine swallowed visibly, his face the picture of distress. “There’s more?” he asked almost inaudibly.

Kurt nodded and again he lowered his eyes and trained them on his fingers still running up and down the coffee mug. Suddenly, the movement stopped and he got up off the bar stool. Blaine watched in concern as Kurt rested his hands on the counter top in front of him as if the kitchen’s island would give him the support he so desperately needed.

“I came out of the showers in the locker rooms one afternoon to find everyone else from gym class gone and only David Karofsky and his toady, Azimio left there.” Kurt’s voice was dangerously quiet as he took Blaine back with him to that high school moment.

 

 

_“What are you doing here? Girls’ locker rooms are on the other side of the corridor,” Karofsky scoffed and Azimio giggled hysterically behind him._

_Kurt kept his eyes down, internally cursing the hopelessly ineffective white towel around his waist. He tried to avoid the two large boys still dressed in their football gear as he made his way towards his locker._

_“I asked you a question, homo!” Karofsky raised his voice and his hand shot out to grab Kurt and swing him around forwards against the locker. Kurt’s face and chest slammed into the locker and the pain was immediate. He closed his eyes, managing to grit out a painful whimper, “Let me go, Karofsky.”_

_In response, Karofsky pushed his whole arm even harder against broad width of Kurt’s back and the boy could feel the sharp edges of the hinges of the locker door pierce his left cheek._

_“Now, why would I think of letting you go, fag. You’re obviously here in the boys’ locker room to get an eyeful of our junk, so why would I disappoint you?” he mocked. Azimio grinned and nodded his head in agreement._

_“I don’t want to see your - ” – Kurt protested trying to get the words past his squashed lips._

_“Rubbish! Of course you do! Or do you think that I’m not good enough for you? Huh? Is that it, Kurt? You saving yourself for someone who isn’t me?”_

_As Karofsky spoke, Kurt felt the bully’s hand, the one that wasn’t pushing on his back, trail lightly down his naked side and reach the towel around his waist._

_“Oh god, no! Please don’t,” Kurt whispered in terror._

_“Ah, come on, Princess; You’re gonna love having my man David here take care of you,” sneered Azimio clearly thoroughly enjoying the scene unfolding before him._

_Terrified, Kurt struggled furiously against the bulk of the heavy body now trapping him completely against the locker and he felt the hand at his thigh begin to raise the towel in an attempt to pull it away from his body._

 

 

The tears were coursing unashamedly down Blaine’s cheeks as he listened to the horrific tale spilling from Kurt’s mouth. Kurt had turned away from Blaine now, leaning instead against the island with his hands wrapped tightly around his chest.

Blaine was reluctant to break the silence but he badly needed to know how to help his friend.

“Kurt did he …? Did he … hurt you?” Blaine whispered, realising that he couldn’t even say the awful word out loud.

Kurt turned around slowly and Blaine was struck with an enormous yearning to rush around to the other side of the island and capture this beautiful man in his arms and to hold him safe forever. Kurt studied Blaine carefully before answering and, in that moment, the latter realised just how much trust Kurt was about to place in him.

“Yes, Blaine he did hurt me – I’ve got the scars to prove it but no, he didn’t rape me.”

The relief on Blaine’s face was obvious. “How did you get away? What happened?”

“Finn,” replied Kurt simply. “Finn happened and … and Sam too.”

“Sam?” queried Blaine.

“Yeah, Finn and his teammates, Puck and Mike, arrived with Sam and when they saw what Karofsky was doing, there was a hellava fist fight, I believe. I wasn’t really aware of anything because as soon as they pulled Karofsky off me, I slumped to the floor and curled up into a small ball.”

“Oh Kurt, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry you were hurt so badly. I want … I want to…” Blaine’s voice trailed off.

“You want to what, Blaine?” asked Kurt slowly.

“I want to come around to that side of the counter and hold you. I want to comfort you like you did yesterday for me. I want to hold you, Kurt. Can I, please?” he begged.

Kurt looked steadily at this man in front of him whose face held nothing but compassion and concern.

“They were football players, Blaine.” Kurt’s answer stalled Blaine’s intended action.

“I get that but I - ”

“Since then I’ve had a block, Blaine – I hate football players!”

“Yeah, I kinda gathered that,” replied Blaine nodding his head in understanding.

“And I’m not good when held. You saw that last week. I freak out,” Kurt continued to try to explain.

“But _you_ were able to comfort and console _me_ yesterday. I felt so safe in your arms, Kurt. I was able to be real in front of someone for the first time in a very long time. Please let me hold you?”

Slowly Kurt nodded and Blaine stood up. Cautiously, as though approaching a frightened wild animal, Blaine walked with his arms open wide, towards Kurt who watched his approach with trepidation.

“Blaine, I’m not sure; I don’t want to - ” Kurt warned.

“You’re not going to freak out,” Blaine assured him, his voice steady and calm, “because I’m going to hold you gently. You’re going to trust me and allow me to bring you the same comfort you brought me yesterday.”

When he finished speaking, he placed his one hand on Kurt’s shoulder and gently nudged the shoulder away so that Kurt’s body would turn to face his. Kurt allowed the movement and then Blaine’s arms were around him and he was gathered tightly into the coach’s embrace. Blaine was aware that Kurt was struggling, that he was fighting a natural instinct to push away and flee but eventually he felt Kurt steady his breathing in a definite decision to stay. After a few moments, Blaine felt Kurt relax completely against him.

“Blaine.”

The single word was muffled against the coach’s shoulder.

“I know, Kurt, I know,” he replied, holding on.

Suddenly, Kurt was weeping. Great big sobs racked his body and the more he cried, the more Blaine held on, gently whispering encouragement in his ears. After a good while, Kurt lifted his head and through his tears smiled wanly at Blaine.

“I need a tissue. I’m sorry,” he sniffed.

“Right, yeah of course,” Blaine was quick to race to the guest bathroom and return with a wad of tissues which he handed to Kurt. They were gratefully received and, when Kurt turned away to blow his nose, Blaine poured more milk into the saucepan and began to heat it again. Kurt opened the dustbin and, having thrown away the used tissues and washed his hands, Blaine asked him to reach into the cupboard above his head to get fresh clean mugs for them.

As Kurt placed the mugs down on the counter, Blaine asked, “What happened to those two boys, Kurt?”

“They were suspended and, following my account of the incident and the witness statements from Finn and the boys, they were eventually expelled,” explained Kurt.

“But you were left with the scars, right? Emotionally and physically?”

“Yeah, the scars,” sighed Kurt as he sat back on the barstool. “They hung around, I guess, at least, the emotional ones did, I think. I had to go for counselling for a bit but I made my dad swear everyone involved to secrecy too. I didn’t want the whole school knowing my business. Finn told Mercedes one day after I freaked out when she hugged me too tightly and she’s been a stalwart supporter ever since. But the football team somehow knew that I was the reason Karofsky and Azimio had been expelled and they certainly didn’t make my life any easier but for the rest of that year I had a protection posse around me. The day after I graduated high school, I headed for New York and never came back. Well, except for ...” Kurt’s detailed explanation petered out.

“Except for Finn - ” Blaine completed the sentence for him.

“Yeah, except for his funeral and now because of my dad,” Kurt agreed.

Blaine handed Kurt the steaming cup of hot chocolate.

“Thank you for telling me all of this, Kurt. I am honoured to be trusted with the details. Can I ask you this question, though? With all that you’ve suffered at the hands of football players, how have you now managed to overlook Randall’s deliberate sabotage?”

Kurt sipped the fresh mug of hot chocolate as he contemplated his response.

“I’ve been wrapped up in my anger and hatred of football players for so long now; I think it’s become a natural way of life. You might have noticed I wasn’t exactly warm and friendly towards _you_ at the start of the year.”

Blaine’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “No shit? You weren’t? Well, I had no idea, Mr Hummel. That actually _wasn’t_ your usual bright and friendly self?” Kurt giggled at Blaine’s lame attempt to lighten the mood.

“Dork!” he teased and the wide smile on his face warmed Blaine’s heart.

“For a long time, Mercedes has been telling me to _let it go_ and _move on_ but I’ve really struggled, Blaine. Santana even wanted me to give you a chance but I couldn’t get my head around your association with football.”

“Is that why you - ” Blaine stopped, reluctant to let on that he’d overheard a conversation between Kurt and Santana.

“What?” Kurt asked.

“No, never mind, I just wondered why you froze me out after we had seemed to be getting along those two days you brought me at school in your car.”

“Yeah – I’m an idiot,” apologised Kurt.

“No, not at all. Kurt – there’s no timetable to healing from abuse. None, whatsoever.”

“I listened to Randy’s story this afternoon and suddenly so much became clear to me. Blaine, I think back then, in high school, Karofsky was struggling with his _own_ sexuality. I think he was terrified to come out and the only way he could deal with his confusion was to _attack_ me – someone who _was_ out and proud.”

“And, you reached this conclusion after chatting to Randy?” Blaine was intrigued.

“Yeah – but like I said, his story is not mine to tell, Blaine. But listening to him as he explained things to me made me see my own situation in a completely different light.”

“In what way, Kurt?” asked Blaine dumbfounded.

“It wasn’t _footballers_ who had a problem with me, Blaine. It was _one_ boy, one confused, lost boy.”

“But he hurt you.”

“Yeah, that he did,” Kurt agreed thoughtfully, “but I’ve allowed him to continue to hurt me since that day and this afternoon, I decided I would take back my life from that fear and that starts with me forgiving Randy and allowing him to play for you tomorrow,” Kurt was smiling as he glanced down at his watch, raised his eyebrows in surprise and then qualified his statement. “Well, _today_ , really.”

“Crap! Is it already that late?”

“It’s _that_ late, Blaine or very early, rather. I should go.” Kurt placed his empty mug on the counter and stood up from the stool.

“Thank you for coming to see me to talk to me, Kurt. I really appreciate it. I promise I’m going to be there for Randy in whatever and any way he needs,” Blaine vowed as he stood up as well.

“Yeah – you do that, Blaine – He is going to need you, he just doesn’t realise it quite yet.”

“Will you text me when you get home?” Blaine asked as he helped Kurt into his jacket and handed him his scarf and at Kurt’s questioning look, he explained, “So, I know you’re home safe.”

Kurt smiled at the thought of Blaine’s concern for his welfare. “Yeah – yeah I will. Thank you, Blaine.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the air thick with all they’d shared over the past two days. Kurt pressed forward and kissed Blaine lightly on the cheek.

“You’re amazing, Blaine,” and, with that, Kurt turned and headed down the passage towards the elevators.

Blaine stood stock still in his doorway, with a smile on his face, his eyes dancing merrily and his hand gently caressing the spot where Kurt’s kiss had landed.

 

 

 

 


	11. Field Goal

**Field Goal**

_**A kick must sail above the crossbar, between the goalposts uprights to be ruled good** _

 

“You are coming to the bonfire this evening, aren’t you?”

At the sound of her voice, Kurt’s fingers paused abruptly and he looked up from the piano to find Santana standing in the doorway of the choir room. The cheer squad coach was wearing a black knitted mini skirt, wrapped as tight as cling-film around her waist and rear, teamed with a bright red jacket and black winter boots which stretched inexplicably to her thighs. She was looking purposefully at Kurt, her eyebrows raised in expectation of an answer she might not like.

Kurt lifted his hands off the keyboard slowly and laid them gently on his thighs as he considered the answer to her question.

“I wasn’t planning to,” he answered truthfully.

“Well, I’m glad I stopped by, then” she retorted, striding confidently into the choir room and coming to sit beside him on the piano bench. Kurt scooted to the side to allow her more space.

“Kurt, it’s your first homecoming game since you’ve been back – the first time you’re actually in Lima for the game since Finn passed away.”

Looking at her sideways, he replied curtly, “I am well aware of that fact, Santana. Thank you.”

“So, I know you and Berry always had an excuse as to why you couldn’t make it back each year - ” Santana continued but, Kurt interrupted her hastily.

“It wasn’t just made-up excuses ‘Tana – most years we genuinely couldn’t get away from our theatre commitments to get home for homecoming weekend,” he attempted to justify both his and Rachel’s annual absence.

“No, I get that,” replied Santana, nodding thoughtfully. “I totally do. But, there’s no excuse this year and we want to know if you’ll be there this evening.”

“We?” Kurt asked, surprised.

“Well, just about everybody will be there,” she explained. “Although, Brittany is on tour but Puck and Quinn are coming, like they do every year. Mike and Tina have driven up from Chicago; Artie’s here; Mercedes and Sam, obviously, will be there and me. And I guess we’re all kinda hoping that this year you’ll be there too.”

Kurt studied the young woman seated beside him and his mind rushed back to a similar seating arrangement years ago, only then, the two of them had been perched on the edge of the stage in the school auditorium. It had been his turn to comfort her and the only way he felt he could do so with any measure of success was to drape Finn’s letterman jacket over the shoulders of the weeping girl.

He sighed deeply. “Santana, this is a big deal for me.”

She nodded in understanding, placing her carefully manicured hand over one of his still resting on his thigh. “Yeah, no, I do actually understand that but Kurt - ” She squeezed his hand in comfort. “Kurt, we’ll all be there for you.”

She stood up and smoothed down her skirt. Then she placed a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and didn’t miss the knot of tension gathered there as she did so.

“We’ll meet around 6pm,” she spoke resolutely as she walked toward the door, halting as she reached for the handle. “The bonfire will be lit at 6.30pm and the game begins at 7 sharp. See you, Hummel.”

*****************************************************************************************************************

Blaine was just walking into his office when his cell phone alerted him to the arrival of a new message. Pulling the phone out of the pocket of his denim jeans, he looked down at the screen and a slow frown replaced the initial smile on his face as he read the message from Kurt.

**Need help!**

Cursing the fact that he had no airtime together with the fact that his phone’s battery was about to die, Blaine went to sit down at his desk and, picking up the school phone beside the computer, he quickly dialled the choir room’s office extension.

Kurt was breathless when he answered. “Blaine?” he wheezed.

“Kurt? Hey, what’s up? You sound out of breath. You been running?” Blaine asked.

“Need help.” Kurt was wheezing quite badly now but he managed to squeeze out two more words, “Panic attack.”

Blaine was out of his chair in an instant. “Shit! Kurt, Hang on; I’m on my way.”

He threw the receiver down into the cradle and rushed out of the office, colliding with Sam who was just entering.

“Hey, Boss! I need to talk to you about -”

“Not now, Kurt’s in trouble!” Blaine yelled rushing passed him.

“Oh, okay,” Sam threw down the kitbag he was holding and turned on his heel to sprint behind Blaine across the grass towards the school building. Once inside, the two men ran down the, thankfully, empty corridors towards the choir room. They eased up as they arrived at the door and entered the room, heads twisting left and right, calling out for him as they looked for Kurt.

“There!” pointed Sam and Blaine’s head swivelled to the left to find Kurt seated on a chair on the highest riser at the rear of the choir room. Each leg was tucked around the front feet of the chair and his arms were gripping the seat tightly on either side. The man’s head was down, his chin almost resting on his chest but both Sam and Blaine could hear the harsh, laboured breathing.

“Kurt - ” Blaine called softly as he approached cautiously. “I’m here. Can you look at me?”

Kurt shook his head from side to side as gasped and gulped in too much air.

“That’s okay,” replied Blaine calmly. “I’m glad you can hear me, though. I want you to focus your attention on my voice, Kurt, because I’m going to help you bring your breathing back under control. Just listen to my voice and focus on what I’m saying, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Absorbed, Sam watched as Kurt nodded his assent without raising his head and Blaine continued once more.

“I want you to count your breaths with me, Kurt. Can you do that, huh? I want you to steady your breathing and get your breaths in time with my counts, okay? Right, then, here we go. Breathe in for two counts … one, two and breathe out for two counts ... one, two. Breathe in through your nose, Kurt and exhale through your mouth. That’s it. You’re doing brilliantly. Breathe in again for two counts …”

Sam stood in admiration as the coach succeeded in getting Kurt to regulate his breathing, gradually slowing it down from two counts to four and then to six counts. Noticing the sweat gathering on Kurt’s forehead, Sam left the room to scrounge up a wet towel of sorts. When he made it back to the room, Blaine was kneeling in front of Kurt. In his two hands which rested atop each of Kurt’s thighs, he held Kurt’s hands loosely.

“That’s right; you’re doing beautifully. Well done,” he murmured constant encouragement.

Sam sat down on the chair beside Kurt and said, “I’ve brought this wet towel from the clinic. Can I wipe your face down Kurt?”

Kurt shook his head and mumbled, “No, it’s okay. I’ll take it from you, Sam,” and he withdrew his hands from Blaine’s grasp to take the towel and run it over his forehead. With the towel totally covering his face, he shook his head slowly from side to side and the two football coaches heard a muffled “I’m sorry.”

“Dude! You totally don’t need to apologise to us at all. I’m just glad we could help,” Sam dismissed his apology quickly.

Kurt removed the towel from his head and looked at the two men. Blaine was acutely aware of the blush on the young man’s cheeks.

“Sam,” he asked as nonchalantly as possible, “would you dash back to our office? You’ll find bottles of Gatorade in the fridge. Do you think you could bring back a couple for Kurt?”

“No worries, Boss, I’m on it,” Sam agreed pleasantly and left quickly, closing the door behind him. Blaine moved to sit on the chair Sam had just vacated but he swivelled his legs around to face Kurt.

“Thank you, Blaine,” Kurt spoke quietly. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m just glad you called for me,” Blaine said taking the man’s hand back into his. “Kurt, do you know what brought it on? Did something happen?”

Kurt sighed and rolled his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. “Yeah, I guess you could say so. Santana was here.”

“Santana?” Blaine was taken aback. “What on earth did she do to cause this attack?”

“She invited me to the bonfire tonight.”

Blaine was thoroughly confused. “The bonfire terrifies you?”

“Well, not quite the bonfire,” Kurt hastened to explain. “She invited me to a little ceremony before the bonfire and she kinda expects me to be there. They all do, apparently and I want to be there, I really do. It’s just, when she left and I was alone, the thought of it took my breath away and I just … I just…” Before he could begin to hyperventilate again, Blaine stopped him short.

“Kurt, look at me,” his voice was firm but kind. “Look into my eyes and tell me… _just_ …. what?”

“Finn’s tree, Blaine,” blurted Kurt in anguish, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “The old Glee Club meets every year before the homecoming game at Finn’s tree and _this_ year, Santana says I should be there because I’ve never made it back before.”

“Oh Kurt,” Blaine raised his hand slowly and gently cupped Kurt’s cheek. “She should know better. You don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing at all. No one should pressurise you.”

Kurt took Blaine’s hand away from his cheek and held it tight on his lap between both of his.

“But Blaine – that’s just the thing. I _do_ want to go. It’s just, I’m not sure I’ll cope. I’ve spent the last few years deliberately _not_ confronting my grief over Finn’s death. I’m not sure what to do with this overwhelming and exhausting feeling of disbelief.” Kurt’s one hand gestured into the air as if to conjure up the disbelief for Blaine to see and, therefore, appreciate. When that proved futile, he returned his hand to his lap and covered Blaine’s again.

“Sometimes, I’ll walk into this room and I’ll see him sitting on the chair that was always just _his_ , you know? Or, I’ll turn a corner in the corridor outside and imagine him striding towards me with that cheesy grin on his face. I knew when he died that I would spend the rest of my life missing him but, at least, in New York, I was able to seal those feelings up in a metaphorical box and contain them, somehow. Here they just run wild. Without Rachel here, I don’t think I’m brave enough to face it and if I don’t go this year, ‘Tana and the others will hate me.”

Blaine brought his free hand over to encircle Kurt’s two hands which still held his other one securely captured.

“Kurt – firstly, no one is going to hate you if you don’t go tonight but … um …. how would you feel if … um… if I came with you? You know, for moral support and general shoulder-leaning purposes?” he asked, his eyes wide and one eyebrow raised speculatively.

Kurt stared at him in amazement. “You would?” he queried. “You’d do that for me?”

“Absolutely – is it something you’d want though?” he checked. “I wouldn’t want to intrude if your classmates didn’t want me there.”

Kurt grinned, “Screw them! I want you there. You make me brave, Blaine,” Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand. “This has been one hell of a week for us, hasn’t it?”

“That it has,” agreed Blaine with a small smile. “I want to .. um … can I hug you, Kurt?” Blaine asked tentatively.

Kurt smiled and Blaine’s heart soared at the sight of a faint blush creeping along the cheeks of the man seated opposite him.

“I have it on good authority that your hugs are pretty amazing, Blaine. I’d like that very much.”

Retrieving his hands, Blaine opened his arms and Kurt leaned in. He breathed in deeply as Blaine’s arms folded around him and he wrapped his own arms around the coach’s back. The two men held each closely and the moment lengthened as they drew strength from each other.

“You okay, now?” asked Blaine softly against Kurt’s ear.

Although somewhat muffled, Blaine heard the word, “Perfect,” roll from Kurt’s lip in a contented sigh just as the door opened and Sam re-entered the room.

“Two litres of Gatorade coming up!” he announced. “Oh, oops, I’m sorry!” He apologised immediately for interrupting the two embracing men.

Blaine and Kurt disentangled themselves reluctantly and Kurt looked up gratefully to Sam standing before him, holding out a lime green drink.

“Thanks, Sam. You’re a life saver.”

“No, you’re welcome Kurt; anytime.”

Blaine stood up and brushed his hands off on his jeans.

“Are you going to go home first?” he asked, confirming details with Kurt.

“Yeah, I think I will. Just check in with my dad and Carole, and change, I think,” replied Kurt.

“Well, why don’t you let me pick you up? That way, we could arrive together?” Blaine suggested.

“That would be great. Thank you,” agreed Kurt.

Sam’s eyebrows rose in interest as he watched this exchange. He was surprised. “You coming to the bonfire and staying for the game, Kurt?” he asked.

Kurt nodded, “Yeah, Sam. I am, now.”

“Mercedes will be so pleased Kurt, because then you and her can sit together,” he commented.

“Awesome!” grinned Blaine. 

***********************************************************************************************************************************

Carole opened the front door when the McKinley coach rang the doorbell of the Hummel home much later that afternoon.

“Blaine!” she exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Good evening, Mrs Hummel,” greeted Blaine formally which caused Carole to giggle.

“Now Blaine, I thought I told you months ago when you stopped by with Sam that I’m to be called Carole,” she reprimanded lightly.

“My apologies, Ma’am,” replied Blaine cheekily, the faint blush covering his cheeks warming Carole’s mother’s heart.

“Oh, you are just thoroughly useless!” she laughed. “Come here and give me a hug,” she insisted and the gallant man did just that.

“Kurt’s just upstairs with his dad,” she explained as they separated, “but he won’t be long now.” She stepped aside, encouraging the football coach to come in. “Let me close this door so the cold air doesn’t seep through the house.” Doing just that, Carole then led the way down the entrance hall. “I was just about to get started on dinner for Burt and me when you arrived.”

Blaine followed Carole though the house towards the kitchen. Although he’d stopped by with Sam a couple of months ago, before Burt’s heart attack, the two of them hadn’t made it passed the front door as they had been pushed for time and Sam had simply needed to drop off something for Carole.

Now, however, it felt almost strange to be in this house, knowing that it was Kurt’s home. Because of that fact, now he took careful notice of the framed photographs which adorned the wall of the passage as he made his way behind Carole. There was one large picture of Kurt and Finn in their bright red high school graduation gowns with both Burt and Carole, beaming from ear to ear, on either side of their boys. A wedding photo of Burt and Carole had Finn and Kurt on either side of the happy couple, their arms slung casually around the shoulders of their parents. A photograph of Kurt and a short brunette, grinning and holding their hands forward with their thumbs up, standing outside a building with the letters NYADA lit up in several hundred spotlights behind them caught his eye just as the sound of heavy footsteps came down tramping down the stairs.

“Blaine, hi, you’re here.”

Blaine looked up and tried not to gasp which was difficult as the breath had all but left his body. Kurt looked gorgeous in a pair of tight black jeans that looked like they’d been painted on those long, slender legs. As he descended the stairs, Kurt tugged on a black knitted zipped sleeveless vest over his back and white striped top.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “You look … is that cashmere you’re wearing?” Instinctively, Blaine reached out a hand but stopped himself from touching just in time.

Kurt’s eyes travelled slowly from the stalled hand to Blaine’s eyes and he replied breathlessly, “Yes, yes it is. I’m impressed, Coach.” He smiled sweetly.

Blaine blushed and withdrew his hand. “Are you ready to go?”

Kurt inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. “I do believe I am,” he replied. “Carole!” he called out turning to the open kitchen door. “We’re going to head out now.”

Carole met him at the door and offered her cheek for a quick kiss from her stepson. As he turned away to head down the hallway with Blaine, she stopped him with her hand on his arm.

“Kurt?”

He turned back to look at her and Blaine saw that her eyes swam with tears.

“Thank you,” she said simply and her eyes met Blaine’s. “Thank you, both.”

Kurt nodded and hugged her tightly. His voice hoarse with tightly reined emotion, he replied, “I’ll be home late – don’t wait up!”

As Carole closed the door behind them, Blaine followed behind Kurt who was shrugging on a warm jacket and winding a scarf around his neck as they walked down the path towards Blaine’s car.

“You okay?” he asked in concern as he pushed the remote to unlock the car and opened the door for his passenger. Kurt looked up at him and for a moment Blaine lost himself in those cerulean eyes – huge swirling, stormy oceans of blue, green and grey.

“Yeah,” he nodded, blinking away the sudden rush of tears, “I am.” Blaine closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He climbed in and buckled his seatbelt. Just as he turned the ignition, Kurt spoke, “I’m just so grateful you’ll be there with me. Thank you, Blaine.”

The ride to the school was short and Blaine kept Kurt distracted with tales of team shenanigans from previous years’ Homecoming Game. It was not long before he pulled into his specially-reserved parking bay beside Sam’s truck and switched off the engine. He looked across at the man in the passenger seat and placed his hand over Kurt’s hand which was curled into a fist resting on his thigh.

“You really ready to do this?” he asked, his hand squeezing gently. Kurt breathed in deeply.

“Lead the way, Coach Anderson,” he replied, a small smile twitching at his lips.

“Very good, then,” grinned Blaine, “Come on.”

Together, they made their way towards the manicured lawn on the side of the school building. Blaine wanted to reach out and take Kurt’s hand in his but thought it was inappropriate so he settled for striding as close to Kurt as possible, their shoulders bumping each other’s as they walked along the paved narrow path. Ahead, Blaine could see a small knot of people had gathered around the tree known fondly at McKinley as “the quarterback’s tree.” A few heads looked up as they approached and one small Asian girl broke free of the group, her eyes sparkling with delighted surprise as she flung her arms excitedly around Kurt’s neck.

“Kurt!” she squealed. “You made it! Oh, I’m so happy to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Tina,” Kurt’s reply came out strangled as she gripped his neck tighter.

“Tina, Love, I think you’re strangling the poor man,” a tall, slender Asian man untangled Tina’s hands and held his hand out for Kurt to shake.

“Good to see you, Kurt,” he continued and then he turned to Blaine his arm outstretched in greeting.

“Coach Anderson, Sam mentioned you’d be joining us this evening. I’m Mike Chang, welcome.”

By that time, Tina had dragged Kurt off to greet the others and Blaine watched carefully as the group of friends welcomed him. The girls all hugged him but the men were respectful of his personal space and simply held out their hands in greeting. He turned his attention back to Mike.

“Yeah, thank you,” he replied. “I hope that it’s okay for me to be here. Kurt asked me to ... he wasn’t sure he could do this without some sort of support. I mean, not that you guys don’t support him or anything, it’s just he and I … what I mean is … ” Blaine trailed off apparently unsure how to complete that sentence.

Mike smiled and brought his other hand up to squeeze Blaine’s opposite arm.

“Coach – you are totally welcome here,” Mike assured him and together they moved closer to the rest of the gatherers. Having greeted all his friends, Kurt quickly walked back to Blaine as the group took up various positions around the tree.

“It’s grown considerably since I first bought it,” he commented to Blaine.

“Coach Beiste promised it would,” Puck agreed, speaking from his position next to Quinn who was standing beside Kurt.

From his other side, Blaine heard Santana whisper not so softly under her breath, “You are such an idiot Puckerman.”

“Bite me, Sandbags,” was his effortless retort to which Santana simply rolled her eyes.

Blaine had heard from Santana herself, the story of how Noah had uprooted the tree and dragged it back to his house because he felt it was too small to pay an adequate tribute to Finn.

“But I still love you,” soothed Quinn, stroking the big man’s arm in comfort.

“Right then,” announced Sam loudly getting everyone’s attention. “Bonfire’s starting in twenty – let’s get started, shall we?”

“What?... um…. what do you do?” asked Kurt timidly, realising that it shouldn’t have taken him all these years to learn the answer to that question.

“Well,” explained Sam patiently, “it kinda started the first year we came back for the Homecoming Game - we all just sat around here under the branches and chatted about our year – the ups and downs; you know, the things we would have wanted to tell Finn had he been alive.” Kurt nodded in understanding.

“And then, the following year we decided to focus on what had been good about the year and it’s just sort of evolved from there,” Santana continued.

“Sometimes, I just say what I miss about him the most,” Quinn spoke quietly.

“Oh, okay,” agreed Kurt. “I guess I could do that.”

Blaine stood quietly beside Kurt as the friends began, one by one, to describe their year – another one they’d had to live without Finn’s warm friendship, strong leadership and easy presence. His eyes were drawn to the bronze plaque on the ground at the foot of the tree which read very simply:

_**Finn Hudson 1994 – 2013.** _

As their voices softly ebbed and flowed around him, Blaine was struck by the line between the two dates.

 _How easily that could have been my plaque four years ago after the car accident_ , he thought grimly.

Last year, Sam had come away from this reunion and had told Blaine how Puck had shared that he was determined to make his line count; that he was resolved to lead a good and worthy life which was how he would pay tribute to this friend he’d lost too soon.

Blaine was drawn out of his reverie by the sound of Kurt’s voice. It was trembling with emotion but determined to be strong.

“I’ve missed Finn _more_ this year than any other,” he told the listeners. “When Carole called about my dad’s heart attack - the first person I wanted to talk to was Finn. There’ve been so many times over the years when something has happened in my life and I’ve wanted to reach for my phone to send him a text or ring him to tell him, only to remember that he’s just not there anymore.”

Blaine heard the break in Kurt’s voice and turned slightly towards him but then he heard the tenacious intake of breath and the brave man standing beside him continued.

“Because she had told me, I knew that Carole had eventually turned his room into a guest bedroom but when I first walked in there when I returned this summer, my heart broke all over again. I do understand that life goes on but I wish to hell that it didn’t have to. If Finn was here today, I think I would wrap my arms around him and never let him go.”

Blaine could see that Kurt’s eyes were swimming with tears and his voice was becoming hoarse.

“I‘m sorry I haven’t been here, Finn. You deserved better from me.”

Blaine slipped his arm tenderly across Kurt’s upper back and allowed his hand to come to rest gently on his shoulder which he squeezed slightly in support. With his other hand, he offered Kurt a handkerchief which Kurt gratefully accepted to dab his eyes.

The sound of Sam strumming his guitar brought the two of them back into the group as Artie softly began to sing.

“ _Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone_ …”

One by one the group joined in the song until, eventually Kurt, too, mustered the courage to add his voice.

“ _Oh, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end_.”

He turned to face Blaine and reached for the coach’s free hand encouraging him with a tearful smile so that Blaine joined them in the final line.

_“I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend, but I always thought that I’d see you again.”_

At the end of the song, all around them, the former high school friends were hugging in groups of twos and threes so Blaine took Kurt into his arms and hugged him tightly against his chest.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into Kurt’s ear.

“Thank you,” came the somewhat muffled reply. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re a good friend, Blaine.”

“Bonfire ya’ll!” yelled Artie, rolling towards the fence which separated them from the football field. “Let’s do this, people!”

Together, the group moved over to the small field beside the football field. Blaine and Sam walked together as Mercedes and Kurt walked arm in arm behind them. Groups of students parted to allow their procession easy access and enthusiastic greetings were called out to the two coaches as they walked by to take up their position of honour just beside the McKinley banner through which the Titan athletes would run. Kurt and Mercedes hung back with the rest of the alumni to watch the school’s traditional homecoming pre-game proceedings.

A roar of approval rose up from the crowd as the bonfire was lit and the flames soared up into the black night. The high school brass band, waiting in perfect formation off to the side, was given the signal to begin to play and the cheers from the waiting crowd rose. Mr Williams’ proud voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to this year’s Homecoming Game – I give you your McKinley Titans!”

Blaine’s football team raced across the field and proudly broke through the paper banner much to the delight of the waiting students and the spectators already gathered in the stands. Kurt watched fondly as Sam and Blaine high-fived each other as their team raced past them towards the football field. As the last player ran past, Blaine turned to find Kurt in the crowd.

“Kurt!” he yelled to get the man’s attention and pushed passed a few people to get nearer.

“Blaine, hey,” smiled Kurt, a little breathless and giddy, his eyes wide as the coach took his elbow to steady him.

“You okay?” Blaine asked with concern in his eyes. “I’ve got to go with Sam now. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’ll go sit with Mercedes and I think Mike and Tina will join us too,” Kurt replied. “You don’t need to worry about me, Blaine.”

“Cool,” replied Blaine and he turned to the woman beside Kurt. “Thanks, Mercedes.” She smiled at the coach who had turned his attention back to Kurt. “I’ll see you later, then. Will you … um …will you wait for me, after the game?” he asked, suddenly unsure of himself.

Kurt laughed and without thinking, smoothed down the upturned collar of the coach’s shirt. “Blaine, you’re my ride home! Of course, I’ll wait for you.”

Blaine grinned widely and then turned around to head back towards his players but Kurt’s urgent cry stopped him in his tracks.

“Blaine!”

He turned around to find Kurt smiling his brilliant smile just at him and his heart stopped.

“Good luck, Coach!”

******************************************************************************************************************************

Santana’s cheer squad was almost finished their perfect routine which Kurt was sure would be spectacular had he been watching. Instead, he was intently focused on Blaine and Sam interacting at the edge the field. Blaine’s hands were gesticulating wildly and then he ran them through his hair and Kurt could tell something wasn’t right. Blaine kept looking at his watch and then speaking rapidly to Sam who had his phone out and was texting furiously. When Sam showed Blaine the message he’d obviously just received back, Blaine threw his hands in the air in frustration and turned away from Sam.

“I think something’s wrong, ‘Cedes,” he said.

“Hell no! I don’t think so, Boo. I think the routine is perfect,” she replied her attention solely on the high-kicking, tumbling cheerleaders.

“No, I don’t mean with the cheer squad,” Kurt explained. “Something’s wrong with Blaine and with Sam, look!”

The two friends watched as the two coaches came together again to look at Sam’s phone and again Blaine threw his hands up in the air.

Quickly, Mercedes pulled her phone out from her jacket pocket and sent a text to Sam’s phone. Kurt watched as Sam obviously received it, read the screen and then, began typing back.

When her phone announced the arrival of the text, wordlessly, Mercedes held out his reply to Kurt.

**[Sam] Bad accident on the road. Entertainment delayed. Won’t be here in time for Half-Time.**

“Shit!” burst out Kurt.

“What are they going to do? Mercedes asked, her eyes worriedly following Sam’s every move as he tried to talk to Blaine.

“We have to help them, ‘Cedes” Kurt announced.

“Me and you? But what can we do?” she asked, perplexed.

Kurt thought for a moment and then his eyes lit up in excitement. “Do you still remember the words to Madonna’s _Four Minutes_?”

“Boo? I do but what are you suggesting?”

Kurt pulled out his phone and typed quickly to Blaine.

**Don’t worry about half-time entertainment. M and I will make a plan!**

Kurt watched as Blaine read the message and turned to the stands to try to find Kurt but when he couldn’t, he sent a text back.

**Okay, I trust you.**

 


	12. Half Time

  **Half Time**

**The time at which half of a game is completed, especially when marked by an interval**

 

“Wait, I actually want to hear it all over again but, first, I definitely need another drink.” Jeff gestured to the bartender who came over as soon as he saw his boss raise his hand.

“Gus, another round here, please,” requested Jeff. Gus nodded and soon Nick, Blaine, Sam and Jeff were cradling a second drink in their hands.

“To half-time entertainment,” Nick raised his glass in a happy salute.

“I’ll drink to that,” agreed Sam, a cheerful grin on his face.

“To good friends who help you out when you’re in deep trouble,” toasted Blaine with a coy smile tugging at his lips.

“Alright then,” smirked Jeff, “it seems you guys have left me no choice.” He grinned slyly at Blaine and raised his glass. “To sexy half-time entertainers, then,” he teased. “Come on, Blainers, buddy, tell us the story again. I still can’t bloody believe my ears.”

“What more must I add, Jeff?” Blaine asked as he sipped his drink. “I’ve told you everything. Our arranged entertainment got stuck in that dreadful traffic after the oil pantechnicon spun out of control and rolled on the freeway. With the fire that ensued, there was no way they could get to us on time. So, when Kurt found out, he and Mercedes made a plan.”

“Damn! I wish I’d have been there,” sighed Jeff and, resting his elbows on the bar counter, he dropped his chin dramatically onto his hands. “To see Ms Jones live in an impromptu performance. It’s the stuff dreams are made of. Nicky, tell me again why we didn’t go to McKinley’s homecoming game?”

Nick grinned at the pouting blonde. “Um, because, Angel, we didn’t actually attend McKinley High School as teenagers and besides, we had already agreed that we’re going to watch Blaine’s team at the State Championship game next weekend, anyway.”

“I know, but Nicky, if I’d known MJ was gonna sing,” continued the blonde man petulantly.

“MJ?” Sam looked up from his drink, now thoroughly confused, “um .. Jeff, who’s MJ?”

“Jeff means Mercedes, Sam. Pay him no mind,” Blaine explained kindly to his assistant.

“Okay, so now get back to the bit where you sent Kurt a text saying: _I trust you_ \- ” Jeff was apparently still on a roll but he paused briefly to take a sip of his drink and then continued, “Have I told you how insanely strange that is? I mean, one minute you and the choir master are at each other’s throats and the next you’re telling him you trust him to sort your Homecoming Game half-time dilemma.”

“I told you, Jeff, things are different now,” Blaine explained his voice quiet and patient.

“Yes, but you never actually said _why_ they were different,” interjected Nick thoughtfully.

“That’s right!” Jeff slammed his fist down on the bar seeming to only just remember that fact. “You simply told Nicky that some stuff had gone down this week and you were seeing Kurt in a whole new light.”

“Look, that’s - ” Blaine began to explain hesitantly but he was interrupted by his assistant coach.

“Kurt graciously agreed to forgive one of our players for the stunt he pulled on the opening night of the musical. Kurt got the kid’s suspension lifted which allowed him to play last night so that really helped us win the game,” Sam explained.

“Sam, I don’t think - ” Blaine didn’t want Sam to mention anything about what had transpired between Kurt and Blaine in the two days leading up to the game the night before. He felt it was intensely private between himself and Kurt and, besides, Sam didn’t know too much of what had happened and Blaine preferred to keep it that way.

“That’s pretty decent of him,” said Jeff thoughtfully.

“Yeah, well he is pretty decent,” continued Sam loyally.

“And, after what he did for you last night, he’s probably a little more than ‘ _pretty decent’_ right?” Nick asked, aiming for a light teasing note but noticed immediately something flicker across his best friend’s face. He watched Blaine sip his drink and then, without turning away from Blaine, Nick asked Jeff to show Sam the new acoustic guitar that had come in three days earlier. Joyfully, Sam jumped at the chance and was bounding away from the bar ahead of Jeff when the latter stopped to kiss his boyfriend soundly on the lips.

Nick moaned loudly as Jeff grabbed a fistful of his hair and, pulling Nick’s head back, he whispered hotly in his boyfriend’s ear, “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Nicholas Duval, but I’m gonna let it go ‘cause I think Blaine needs you right now but I want _all_ the details tonight or you’re going to be making very good friends with your right hand for the next week.” With another sloppy, dirty kiss, he left his boyfriend in the company of his best friend.

“Shit! That boy is going to be the death of me,” sighed Nick happily.

Blaine laughed at Jeff’s antics and sipped his drink. “You’d be lost without him and you know it.”

“Talk to me, Blaine. You said Kurt is joining you here, later. Is it a date?” Nick asked, genuinely interested in the answer because he knew his friend hadn’t been on a date since the fateful night that stole his professional football career.

“No, it isn’t, Nick. At least, I don’t think so. He’s driving out here with Mercedes and Santana. It was just a casual invitation thrown out to everyone really, after the success of the half time show and the game.”

“Tell me all about it,” encouraged his friend.

Blaine sighed and held the glass up to his eyes, swirling the liquid around as he recalled the events of the previous evening.

“Nick, he was _so_ incredible. I mean, I know he’s a Broadway star so obviously he can sing and dance but shit, Nicky, his body can move and when he did, it was all I could do to remember how to breathe.”

“But, how did he pull the whole thing together so quickly,” Nick was intrigued.

“Apparently, for a while back in high school, he and Mercedes joined the cheer squad and, together, with the squad, they performed this Madonna number for a school assembly. So last night, they roped in Santana who quickly prepped a few of her best girls while Kurt went to speak to the band leader. Who knew they had Madonna in their back pocket?”

“And by the end of the second quarter they were ready?” Nick was astounded at the speed of the planning.

Blaine nodded, and Nick didn’t miss the triumph in his friend’s eyes.

“Nicky, when Peter Williams announced the half-time entertainment, I was standing on the field next to Kurt and, very nervously, I asked him if was ready. He turned to me with a megawatt smile that could have lit up the stadium all by itself and he told me: ‘ _Blaine, I was born ready_.’ Shit! He was phenomenal. He was born to perform, Nicky.”

“And the crowd liked it?”

“Liked it? Hell, no, Nick – they loved it! They were standing on the bleachers, stamping their feet, yelling for an encore for several minutes afterwards. It was … he is …” But, Blaine had run out of words.

Nick smiled and patted his friend on the shoulders, “Ah, Blainers – you’ve fallen hard haven’t you?”

Blaine grimaced before taking another sip and swallowing slowly. As he set the glass back down on the counter, he sighed. “I didn’t mean to, Nick. I really didn’t. He’s just pretty damn perfect.”

“Despite his vicious temper when you cross him?” Nick teased.

Blaine laughed, somewhat chagrined. “No, look,” he countered, “most of those arguments were just misunderstandings and most of them were my fault and well, some of them as a result of residual scars – a lot of which we’ve managed to clear up this week. I think maybe we could - ”

Blaine’s phone interrupted his foretelling, with an incoming message from Kurt:

**[KURT] Hi, Santana, Mercedes and I are here. Where are you?**

To which he quickly responded:

_**[BLAINE] Nick and I are at the bar. Sam’s backstage with Jeff. We’ll come meet you at the door.** _

“They’re here, at the door,” Blaine explained to Nick who stood up immediately.

“Okay, you go grab them and I’ll get Sam and Jeffie and meet you at the table Jeff’s reserved for us near the front,” he directed.

Blaine and Nick separated and soon Blaine found Kurt standing at the door looking around expectantly. His face lit up when he saw Blaine and the latter’s heart swelled. Santana grabbed her flatmate and pulled him in for a hug.

“Bloody hell, Blaine, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! This better not be lame tonight ‘cause you know Auntie Snix could have been getting lucky at a Homecoming Dance instead.”

Blaine grinned as he hugged his friend back. “Santana, you look simply spectacular and no one in their right mind would ever ask you to chaperone at the school dance so, no – you had nowhere else to be tonight. But I’m glad you came here!” he replied before turning to Mercedes and, taking her hand in his, he raised her fingers to his lips to deposit a chivalrous kiss which made the pop diva giggle.

“Ms Jones, may I say you look simply awesome?”

“You may most certainly say so, Coach Anderson!” Mercedes smiled, pleased at his gallantry. “You just keep those compliments a-coming, boy!”

The girls were momentarily distracted by the somewhat noisy arrival of Sam, Jeff and Nick and, in that moment, Blaine took the opportunity to pull Kurt into a hug. The man looked simply drop-dead gorgeous in his cloud-print skinny jeans, blue shirt and jacket.

“Mr Hummel, you look fantastic tonight,” he murmured into the man’s ear.

Kurt preened a little. “Why thank you for noticing, Coach Anderson. It’s just a little something I threw together.”

“Don’t you bloody believe him, Hobbit,” Santana yelled. “He had me waiting downstairs a full fifteen minutes while he fiddled and farted upstairs and then had the complete audacity to claim a ‘wardrobe malfunction’ as he wafted down the stairs eventually. I swear I nearly left without him!”

“Santana!” hissed Kurt, outraged at being betrayed but Blaine laughed.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t leave him behind, ‘Tana,” he placated the two old friends. “Shall we?” He invited Kurt to follow Santana as they all trailed after Jeff who had Mercedes on his arm and was leading her to the table he’d especially reserved for his friends for the evening.

Moments later, Kurt found himself seated snugly in a low chair between Nick and Blaine, sipping a tall glass of Sangria which the waiter had poured for them all from a large carafe on the table.

“Just a little something to get us all started,” Jeff explained. “Then later, you can all order whatever you want from the bar.” He raised his glass and the others followed suit.

“A toast,” Jeff declared, “to my friend Blaine Anderson – coach extraordinaire - for his win last night and the journey to the state championship finals which is almost at an end. And to my good friend Mercedes Jones and - ”

“Angel, since when is Mercedes Jones your ‘ _good’_ friend?” Nick interrupted his boyfriend curiously.

Jeff smiled sardonically and replied, “Since she rescued Blaine’s half-time performance last night, my love.”

“Ah, hell no,” exclaimed Mercedes setting down her glass. “That was all my boy, Kurt’s idea. I just went along with it.”

“How ‘bout we all just agree that we’re _all_ pretty bloody amazing and leave it at that?” Santana decreed, determined not to be left out of the praise equation.

“Now, that’s a toast I can get behind,” agreed Sam.

“To us,” toasted Blaine and he turned to Kurt to tap glasses in a salute. Kurt met his eyes over the glasses and repeated quietly, “To us.”

 

Many drinks later, their celebration was in full swing. Nick and Jeff insisted on regaling the McKinley crowd with their Warbler tales, most of which were designed to embarrass the hell out of Blaine who protested his innocence at every turn while Kurt giggled quietly into his drink.

At one point, Sam and Mercedes disappeared off to the dance floor and Santana dragged Blaine out there fairly quickly too. Jeff was overseeing a few things at the bar which left Nick and Kurt alone at the table.

“Blaine thinks you’re pretty amazing, Kurt,” Nick announced, without preamble, and smiled as the man blushed and laughed happily.

“I think we’re the chairman of each other’s mutual admiration society at the moment, Nick. I think he’s rather special, too.”

“We’ve been friends for almost forever,” Nick continued, “and I just want to see him as happy as Jeff and I are.”

“You two are terribly cute,” Kurt agreed. “Look, Nick, I appreciate where you’re coming from. Blaine told me about Boston, about Matt and the accident. Blaine and I, we’re both pretty wounded and there are lots of scars. We’re only now, as of this week, finding our way in this friendship but I promise you this: I won’t hurt him.”

Blaine came dancing back to their table complaining that Santana had left him for some blonde she spotted at the bar.

“Come dance with me, Kurt,” he begged. “I wasn’t finished yet and now I’m all alone.”

Kurt shook his head, the blush creeping across his cheeks.

“You’d better go, Kurt or he’ll pull out that famous puppy dog pout and you’ll be reduced to putty – it’s never pretty when that happens.”

“Well, when you put it like that, perhaps I should go now while I still have my dignity?” Kurt replied, a smile playing on his lips.

“Yes! yes! Come!” Blaine bounced up and down like an excited toddler and, holding out his hand for Kurt to take, he led them to the dance floor.

Nick watched them take a while to find a rhythm that worked for them and was smiling when Jeff returned to the now almost empty table.

“Hey, where’d everyone go?” the blonde complained.

“To dance,” replied Nick, “perchance to fall in love.” Jeff looked quizzically at his boyfriend.

“Nicky?”

“Look Jeff,” instructed Nick happily. “Look at Blaine.”

Jeff's eyes sought out their friend on the dance floor and his mouth dropped open. Blaine had one hand wrapped loosely around Kurt’s waist and the other was holding Kurt’s arm curled in place around his own neck where Kurt’s fingers played with Blaine’s curls in the nape of his neck. In time to the beat of the music, Blaine was rocking their hips backwards and forwards. Noses almost touching, the two were completely in sync with each other and completely oblivious to anyone around them.

“Nicky,” gasped Jeff, “do you think Kurt’s the one?”

“I hope so, Angel. I really hope so,” Nick replied.

Jeff dropped into his boyfriend’s lap and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Nicky – would you like to dance with me?” he whispered into the other man’s ear.

“Angel, I thought you’d never ask.”

 

 

 


	13. Return

  **Return**

_The act of receiving a kick or punt and running toward the opponent’s goal line with the intent of scoring or gaining significant yardage._

 

**[BLAINE] Are you home safely?**

[KURT] Yeah, thanks I am. Santana just dropped me off now. You?

**[BLAINE] Heading back to Nick and Jeff’s place as I type this. Thanks for coming all this way.**

[KURT] I had a really good time.

**[BLAINE] Me too! Me too!**

[KURT] Blaine, do you think… would you like to get coffee maybe sometime tomorrow?

**[BLAINE] I’d love to. I’ve got training at school with the team from 2-4pm – maybe afterwards?**

[KURT] That would be great. Meet you at the Lima Bean around 5pm?

**[BLAINE] I’ll be there! Thanks Kurt. Sweet dreams.**

[KURT] You too, Blaine. Good night.

 

Kurt closed his phone and tapped it once or twice against his chin, his eyes closed as he remembered what it had felt like to be held in Blaine’s tight embrace on the dance floor, their bodies in close contact swaying to and fro. Slowly, he allowed the grin to sweep over his face and he collapsed onto his bed, facedown, glad that his pillow was there to absorb the happy squeal that came from his mouth.

Nearly 90 miles away, Nick looked at Blaine in the car’s rear view mirror. He saw his friend’s eyes light up with each new incoming message and, when he finally pocketed his phone again, Nick ventured to ask, “Good news, I assume?”

“The best,” replied Blaine contentedly.

*************************************************************************************************************

Blaine wasn’t overly concerned the following afternoon when he walked into the _Lima Bean_ to find that Kurt had not yet arrived. He checked his watch which read 5.05pm and then selected a table for the two of them. He positioned himself in a seat which gave him an unobstructed view not only of the front door but of the car park outside as well.

At a quarter after the hour, he looked up from his phone to see Kurt’s car gliding quickly into a free space and the man himself hurriedly climbed out. Blaine could see that Kurt’s movements were rushed, obviously disappointed that he was late but then Blaine chuckled as Kurt stopped to check his hair in the side mirror before heading to the coffee shop.

Inside, Kurt’s eyes swept the room and landed delightedly on Blaine who raised an arm in greeting and then stood up as Kurt made his way towards their table.

“Blaine,” he called softly, “I’m so sorry I’m late.” His attempts to apologise were waved away by Blaine who helped him shrug off the jacket and unwind the scarf he was wearing.

“Please don’t worry about it, Kurt. I just got here myself.”

Both men stood staring at each other, weirdly affected, it seemed, by the daylight and the public setting until Blaine laughed bashfully.

“I really want to hug you, Kurt,” and he was pleased to see Kurt grin at the idea but Blaine noticed his eyes swept the room cautiously.

“Yeah, me too, Blaine,” he agreed, “but this is Lima, Ohio – probably not the best place for that. Look, you sit, let me get our coffees and then I’ve got good news for you.”

Blaine protested, “No, Kurt, here let me get the coffee.”

“Nah uh,” Kurt shook his head. “I asked you, remember? This is on me,” he insisted as he walked away to place their order.

He had no sooner returned with the coffee and a plate of freshly baked biscotti when Blaine asked impatiently, “So what’s the good news, then?”

Kurt sat down and emptied a packet of sugar into his drink then he looked up at Blaine with sparkling eyes. “My dad got out of bed today and spent about three hours downstairs in the living room with us.”

“Kurt,” Blaine beamed, “that’s awesome!”

“I know right?” Kurt bounced excitedly in his chair opposite Blaine. “That’s why I was late getting here. I helped Carole get him safely back up the stairs again. Apparently, under doctor’s instructions, together with Carole, he and the physiotherapist have been exercising and building towards this for a while. It was a total surprise for me.”

“Oh, wow!” Blaine was thrilled. “Kurt, I can just imagine what a fabulous surprise it was. What does this mean in the long-term for your dad?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is he’s getting a little stronger every day. He’ll never be as well or as tough as he was before this second attack but the fact that soon he’ll no longer be bed-ridden … I can’t tell you what that means to me Blaine.”

Blaine could tell because he spied the glint of tears in Kurt’s eyes. He reached out and placed his hand over Kurt’s on the table. Kurt looked up and afforded Blaine the pleasure of that angelic smile as Blaine squeezed his hand.

“I’m so happy for you,” he smiled; his eyes soft and kind and Kurt had to catch himself before drowning in them.

“Thank you, Blaine,” he replied, squeezing the coach’s hand back. “Now tell me all about your practice today. I bet the boys were on a high after Friday night’s win.”

Blaine leaned back in his chair which meant he pulled his hand away from Kurt’s and the latter tried hard to mask his disappointment.

“Strange that you say that actually,” Blaine mused. “I thought they would be but they were unbelievably flat today. Something wasn’t right the whole time we were running drills.”

“Oh?” queried Kurt, “Maybe they were a little hung-over after the dance last night?” he suggested.

“Yeah, perhaps that’s what it was,” Blaine replied. “But they were _all_ kinda off – even those I know didn’t actually go to the dance. Haydn, in particular, was having a really bad practice and I had to pull him and Randy apart at one stage before their stupid altercation almost ended in a fist fight.”

Kurt’s eyes were huge. “Haydn and Randy were fighting?”

“Well, not really fighting, as such, but for the entire session, they were making cutting remarks at one another about the stupidest things on the field, sniping at one another in a way I’ve never seen before. They’ve been best mates since forever but I don’t know what’s changed there.”

“Did either one say anything to you?” Kurt asked quietly, his eyes not meeting Blaine’s as he played with the empty sugar packet between his fingers.

“No, that’s the thing. I asked them what the hell their problem was but they just clammed up and said it was nothing. I’m not a fool, Kurt; I could see it wasn’t exactly _nothing_ but they wouldn’t talk to me. I need them both on their A-game this weekend. I really do.”

“This game’s the big one, huh?” Kurt asked although he knew full well what the answer to that question was.

“Yep – this is it. The one we’ve been working towards for four years. Every plan we ever had, every drill we’ve every rehearsed has been with _this_ final in mind.”

“And when you win this weekend, Blaine? What then?” asked Kurt quietly, looking intently at the man opposite him.

“What do you mean?” Blaine cocked his head to the side.

“When you’ve met your four-year goal - one whole year _ahead_ of schedule - ” and when Blaine raised his eyebrows in surprise, Kurt giggled. “What? I have ears. I pay attention when you speak, Coach!” When Blaine’s laughter stopped, Kurt continued.

“When you have made the McKinley Titans _the_ number one football team in the state, what then, Blaine?” he asked sincerely.

Blaine frowned and it was obvious to Kurt that he hadn’t really thought about life after achieving this all-important goal. “Well … um … then, I guess we start a new goal for the new year? I mean, that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” Blaine seemed surprised at the turn in conversation.

“But, have you even thought about what happens after?” Kurt was nothing if not persistent.

“Kurt? I’m not even sure where you’re heading with this line of questioning - ”

“I’m sorry; I’m making you uncomfortable.” Kurt was immediately repentant. “Shit! I’m so sorry. I’m totally out of line, Blaine. Forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Kurt,” replied Blaine quietly. “It’s just ... I’m a high school football coach. That’s all I’ll ever be. So, when I win next week, I’ll reset the scales and work out a new goal for the team.” He smiled but Kurt could see that it didn’t reach is eyes and internally, he cursed himself for his insensitivity.

“Blaine, I - ”

“No, forget it! Come now, drink up,” Blaine instructed, “I’m heading to the counter for refills.”

Blain stood up and joined the queue, deliberately not making eye contact with the man at his table. What was it about Kurt’s questions that had left him so unsettled? Winning this game on Friday night was all he’d been thinking of over the past few years. That didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about what would come after, did it? Had he?

“What can I get you, sir?” asked the barista in a pleasant voice, interrupting his internal debate.

Numbly, Blaine repeated their order and, having paid, scooted down the counter to wait for it to be prepared. He chanced a quick glance at their table to find Kurt’s head lowered, eyes focused on the text he was busy typing on his phone. Blaine noticed that Kurt’s bottom lip was caught between his teeth and he was biting down hard.

 _Idiot, Anderson! You’ve upset him and now this date’s going to shit. Get your act together, damn it!_ Blaine wondered why the voice of his conscience sounded a lot like Jeffrey Stirling.

Retrieving the coffees from the smiling barista, Blaine returned to the table and placed one in front of Kurt who looked up with a hesitant smile.

“Everything okay?” Blaine asked, glancing at the phone in Kurt’s hand.

“Yeah, it was just Mercedes texting me a goodbye from the airport,” explained Kurt.

“Oh? She flying back to L.A. today?”

“Yeah, she really pushed her manager’s limits by spending these last two weeks in Lima but I so appreciated her being here – especially for the musical. I miss her enormously though.”

“So, when you were living in New York, did you see her much?” asked Blaine eager to learn as much as he could about Kurt’s life in the famous city.

“She moved to the east coast to work on her second album for a while but then things with her and Sam got really awkward. He moved back here, she went on tour and when that was over, she settled in L.A. again so no, I haven’t seen much of her over the past few years,” Kurt clarified.

“Do you miss New York, Kurt?” Blaine ventured cautiously into what may have been considered tricky territory.

“Oh Blaine, with every fibre of my being, every single day,” was Kurt’s immediate and honest response. “But, right now, I’m focused on my dad’s recuperation. I’m focused on Sectional’s in two weeks and, hopefully, after that - Regional’s.”

“And then, definitely National’s!” interjected Blaine enthusiastically and Kurt laughed.

“Yeah – see, that’s the kind of optimism I need. When you win on Friday night, Blaine, hopefully some of that magic will swell throughout the school and my Glee Club will be affected.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Blaine laughed and raised his mug.

**********************************************************************************************************************

That next week, each morning that Blaine arrived back in his office having showered and changed after football practice before school, it was to be greeted by the sight of a _Lima Bean_ take-away coffee mug and a sweet encouraging post-it note from Kurt waiting on his desk. Kurt knew that the football team was training from six to seven each morning so he timed his coffee delivery for those minutes he judged Blaine to be in the shower before he scurried away to prepare for his own day of teaching and training.

On Wednesday morning, though, Blaine had been delayed on the field with some of the boys and, as he entered his office to collect his shower bag, he almost collided with Kurt who was just leaving.

“Oops! Oh! And _there’s_ the coffee elf that’s been brightening my day this week,” Blaine exclaimed happily.

“You have no idea how glad I am right now that you said coffee elf and not fairy!” replied Kurt, grinning just as cheerfully.

Blaine took in the meticulously co-ordinated outfit Kurt was wearing and couldn’t help the low whistle that escaped his lips.

“You look absolutely awesome today, Mr Hummel,” he praised.

“Why, thank you, Coach Anderson,” Kurt preened and stepped back slightly, “and you look ….” His voice trailed away as he got a good, clear view of Blaine’s red McKinley tank top stained through with sweat and the tight black shorts that were just as damp. The sweat glistened on Blaine’s forehead even as he reached for a towel to wipe it off.

“Sweaty and sticky – yeah, I get it,” Blaine laughed somewhat self-consciously.

“Hot...” exhaled Kurt, and Blaine would have laughed but he caught the flicker of desire in the man’s blue eyes.

“Kurt?”

Cautiously, Blaine reached out a tentative hand to run the back of his knuckles gently down Kurt’s cheek. Neither man missed the way Kurt’s breath hitched at the touch.

“What are you doing to me, Blaine?” whispered Kurt in wonderment. “You take my breath away.”

“You are … you are _so_ beautiful, Kurt,” murmured Blaine and he began to close the distance between their bodies.

“Boss, I’ve got those two knuckleheads in the sh – Oh? Oops and, once again, I’m interrupting; sorry! Pretend I wasn’t even here.” Sam’s voice had become nothing more than a whisper by the time he turned around with every intention of leaving the office but Kurt pulled away immediately from Blaine’s hand and called him back urgently.

“No! Sam, come back! I was just leaving.”

Sam stood in the doorway looking a little forlorn. “Yeah, look, I’m sorry about that. I just wanted to tell Blaine that I have Haydn and Randy in the showers on lockdown. They know we want to talk to them about what happened today when they’re done.”

Kurt’s eyes were raised in alarm and he turned to face Blaine. “Haydn and Randy, again? What happened, Blaine?”

“Sam had to physically restrain them this morning. They got into a wrestling match during practice. I don’t know what the hell is going on with the two of them but if they continue like this then we can write off Friday night’s game.”

Kurt stood there in Blaine’s sports office, his coffee in one hand and messenger-bag slung over his opposite shoulder, facing one of the biggest dilemmas of his adult life. Randy had confided in him and sworn Kurt to secrecy but his current situation was tearing the team to shreds and along with it, all of Blaine’s hopes and dreams. Kurt took a sip of his coffee in order to sort out his rioting thoughts. He swallowed and looked straight at Blaine who was shaking his head in frustration.

“Blaine, talk to Randy without Haydn around if you can? Try to get him to open up to you. Tell him - ” Kurt sucked in a deep breath. “Tell him, I said talking to you is a safe option.”

“Kurt? What do you mean? Do you know what’s going on here and you haven’t told me?” Blaine was incredulous and the disappointed hurt in his voice was obvious to Kurt.

“No, Blaine, I don’t know what’s going on between the two but I can probably guess and no, I’m not in a position to tell you because I gave the boy my word that I won’t but I can tell you that Randy desperately needs to talk to you. Let Haydn go to class and spend some time with Randy, please Blaine?”

Blaine looked long and hard at Kurt and then he said quietly, “Okay, Kurt; I trust you.”

*********************************************************************************************************************

Later in the day, just before his scheduled lunch break, a light tap at his door roused Kurt from the English papers he was grading at his desk. He looked up to find Blaine standing in the doorway, the expression on his face was one of worry and concern.

“Hey, are you busy? I really need a minute,” he enquired and Kurt read the desperate plea in his eyes.

“No, not really; come in.” Kurt rose from his swivel chair to meet Blaine halfway across the room and gestured for him to take a seat in one of the two chairs which faced his desk while he himself took the other one and turned to face the coach.

Not knowing what was afoot, Kurt waited for Blaine to break the silence, but when he didn’t, Kurt offered him something to drink.

Blaine didn’t acknowledge the suggestion, instead he blurted out “I don’t know what to do, Kurt. I’m totally out of my depth here.”

“With what?” Kurt asked gently, although he suspected he knew already.

“With Randy,” Blaine sighed.

Kurt was cautious. “Why? What did he say to you?”

Blaine looked straight at Kurt as he replied, “He’s gay. He told me he’s gay.”

“O-kay -” replied Kurt but Blaine interrupted him before he could continue.

“But then, you knew that already, didn’t you? He told me that he basically told you his whole story when the two of you met last week to discuss his suspension.”

Kurt nodded. “Yes; yes, he did and he also swore me to secrecy, Blaine. But what’s going on between him and Haydn that’s got them so upset with each other?”

Blaine ran the tips of his fingers over his temple and forehead trying to stem the headache he knew was brewing. “Kurt, it’s a mess. Randy told me that he explained to you that most of his motivation behind tampering with the lights for your opening night was a stupid and childish attempt to get back at Haydn - to ruin that special moment of opening night for him.”

Kurt agreed, “Yes, that’s right. From what I understand the two of them have only recently realised that they have feelings for each other – feelings that run deeper than friendship -and if they have these feelings it must mean they are gay and neither one of them is coping with that realisation well at all.”

Blaine nodded in understanding and empathy as Kurt continued.

“Apparently, Haydn had wanted Randy to join the Glee Club and musical when he did but Randy just couldn’t. He told Haydn that his father wouldn’t let him do something ‘ _so gay’_. Randy is terrified of his father finding out what’s going on with him because apparently his father had lots of unkind and hurtful things to say about Haydn participating and Randy stupidly needed to do something that distanced himself from all that.” Kurt thought he’d summarised the conversation he had with Randy quite well when Blaine dropped a bombshell.

“Haydn wants to come ‘out’ at school and declare not only their orientation but their relationship as well. Randy is terrified of the repercussions hence the sniping at each other and today’s physical wrestling,” he announced.

“It’s just repressed sexual tension then, isn’t it?” questioned Kurt.

“And the worst kind,” Blaine grimaced, “because it’s repressed _teenage_ sexual tension. Maybe I should just lock the two of them in the weight-training room and let them have it out!” he chuckled, cynically.

“Why not?” Kurt laughed lightly, “It worked for us,” and his eyes widened in sudden shock as he realised what his filter-free mouth had just revealed.

“Blaine, I’m … I …” he stuttered, embarrassed but Blaine shook his head kindly at the choir master, his eyes soft with understanding.

“No, don’t apologise, Kurt – it’s true and I can’t deny it any longer.” Blaine leaned closer and took one of Kurt’s hands in his. “You make me feel things, Kurt Hummel. You move me and I would … I would very much like to take you on a date. Just the two of us, okay? No other friends, no loud bar – just, maybe, a romantic dinner for two, somewhere special. Is that something you think you might say yes to?” he asked nervously as his thumb rubbed up and down against the skin of Kurt’s palm.

“Blaine,” Kurt breathed out, “I would like nothing more.”

Blaine beamed, his smile bright enough to illuminate the room were extra lights needed. “Is tonight too soon? Because I don’t think I could wait much longer than that.”

Kurt’s wide grin matched that of the coach’s sitting opposite him. “No, you’re right. Tonight would be just perfect. Thank you. Carole should be home by eight – I could leave by then.”

As the bell rang, signalling the end of that lesson, Blaine stood up – and Kurt noticed his hand was still clasped in Blaine’s tight grasp so he stood up too.

“Until tonight then,” Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand tight in his and as he headed out, Kurt called out after him.

“Blaine! Don’t worry, okay? We’ll think of something to help those two boys.”

 

 


	14. Safety

  **Safety**

_**A score that the defense earns by tackling an offensive player in possession of the ball in his own end zone.** _

 

[RACHEL] And why do I have to hear from Sam (of all people) that you are dating the hot McKinley football coach?

[RACHEL] I thought we were friends, Kurt?

[RACHEL] Friends tell each these sorts of things.

[RACHEL] I tell you everything!

[RACHEL] Why aren’t you replying to my texts?

[RACHEL] Okay, so I just checked my watch and I see it’s probably Glee Practice so I’ll stop blowing up your phone with messages.

[RACHEL] But you better ring me the moment Glee Club is finished.

[RACHEL] I’ll be waiting

{RACHEL} You know I will.

 

As the students were filing out of the choir room in noisy groups of twos and threes with the melody they’d just rehearsed still falling from their lips, Kurt read the text bombs from Rachel. He checked his watch but, much to his disappointment, he decided it would be too late to ring her at that point. She would be in ‘hair and make-up’ preparing for her evening show. Quickly, he sent her a text promising to Skype with her later, after her show, and tell her everything about his date with Blaine the previous night.

Tucking the phone back into his pocket, he began to collect the music sheets which lay scattered and abandoned on the lid of the piano but a shuffling sound coming from behind his back distracted him and he turned around to find Haydn standing, looking rather dejected, in the middle of the choir room floor. Kurt recognised that despondent look. Quietly, he put the music sheets down, turned around completely and sat down on the piano bench facing the boy.

“Haydn?” he asked quietly, “Is there something on your mind?”

The boy looked up at his teacher and Kurt could see tears were pooling in his eyes. With a heavy sigh the boy flopped down onto the edge of the bottom riser, recklessly throwing his schoolbag to the side.

“Mr Hummel, you’re gay right?”

Kurt swallowed, nervous about the possible direction of this conversation. It was such an important sports week for the boys, their coaches and the team so for them to be dealing with these huge issues on top of everything else seemed almost unfair. Kurt decided to answer each question Haydn threw at him with complete honesty in an effort to help the boy through this crisis with Randy.

“Yes, Haydn, I am,” he answered simply, “but then, again, I think you already knew that, right?”

The boy nodded and continued, “And you’re like ‘out’ and proud and completely okay with it all, aren’t you?”

“Well now,” Kurt countered, “that’s a lot of pretty heavy questions rolled into one that you’re asking me there.” He took a deep breath and raising himself off the piano bench he went to sit beside the distraught teen. Once seated, he continued. “I _am_ ‘out’, yes, and I _am_ proud, yes and I _am_ completely okay with who I am _but_ I have to confess, Haydn, it wasn’t always like that.”

The boy turned to look at his teacher in surprise. “Not? How so? I’ve admired you for a long time Mr H. I followed your career for ages, insanely proud that you came from lowly little Lima to make it big on Broadway. You gave the rest of us hope, you know.”

Kurt smiled indulgently. “Thank you Haydn, that means a lot to me but … well, to be perfectly honest -high school, for me, was a complete and utter nightmare. Ten years ago, I was the only gay kid officially ‘out’ at this school at a time when it wasn’t okay with the vast majority of the student body for anyone to be gay or at least to be out. There were many who made my life a living hell.”

“Did you ever wish you weren’t gay?” The voice was small, frightened even.

“Yeah – I guess I did. Before I even understood what or who I was, I tried dating a girl but that didn’t work out for me at all. I even changed my clothing style for a while in an attempt to hide the real me but it didn’t last either. I realised that I rather liked who I was and eventually I began to celebrate the fact that I was different because I discovered and accepted that it was the _best_ thing about me.”

There was silence in the choir room as Haydn absorbed this truth and Kurt sat quietly beside him allowing the boy the time he needed to process.

“I’m gay, Mr H,” Haydn’s voice wavered slightly as he spoke quietly into the silence without looking at Kurt.

“Okay,” replied Kurt, his voice steady and even, “and have you told anyone else?”

The boy nodded. “I told my mom a few weeks back.”

“And, what was her response?” Kurt asked softly, praying it was good news.

“She was fine with it, actually. She did ask if I was sure and then immediately, she apologised because she said she’d read somewhere that that’s not what a parent is supposed to ask. She was kinda desperate to do and say the right thing so that I wouldn’t be offended but I really wasn’t. It just meant so much to me when she said she still loves me not matter who I choose to love and when I bring home someone I care about, she said she’s sure she’ll love him too because she trusts my judgement.”

Kurt’s eyes were wide with admiration for a woman he hadn’t really properly met apart from a few proffered ‘congratulations’ thrown back and forth after the musical’s three-night run.

“Wow! Haydn she sounds awesome,” Kurt gushed.

The boy nodded. “She is actually,” he agreed. “It’s just her at home. My dad left us when my little sister was a just baby and my mom’s been pretty amazing.”

“Can I ask then why you sounded so down and despondent earlier?” Kurt gently pried.

“It’s just …” The boy sighed. “I like someone, okay? Like really _really_ like someone. He’s been my best friend like forever and I only recently realised that I actually have real feelings for him.”

“And have you told him about those feelings?” Kurt prodded, still very gently.

“Yeah and he feels the same for me … it’s just … his family is super conservative and very religious. He’s terrified of what his parents will say. I mean, I can understand it. I’ve spent a lot of time in their home and I’ve heard his parents talk about the “ _gay agenda_ ” and how it’s supposedly going to “ _destroy_ ” America.”

“That can’t be easy for him or for you either,” Kurt surmised.

Haydn flung his hands out in desperation. “No, See, that’s just it! He’s furious with me because he says I’m putting pressure on him to come ‘out’ to his family when he’s not ready. We’ve been fighting a lot lately and yesterday, … yesterday, I could see he wanted to punch me ‘cause he’s so frustrated but all I wanted to do was hold him … really tight like … and .. and maybe kiss him … ‘til he’s not scared anymore.”

Kurt’s heart ached for the teenager sitting beside him. “Oh Haydn, I can just imagine how much you’re both hurting right now. But you have to respect his wishes, okay? If you want to come ‘out’ to the school and live proudly as a gay student, I will be there every step of the way to help you with that transition but I must implore you to not inadvertently ‘out’ your friend until he himself is ready to do so. It’s a gift you have to be willing to give him. Let him get there in his own time.”

Haydn nodded and his hands scrubbed furiously at the tears which trickled down the side of his face. “I know; you’re right Mr H – I’ve probably been very selfish. I just wanna… you know … maybe take him on a date and spoil him a little and oh holy crap, I really _really_ want to kiss him!”

Kurt was thrilled when the boy began to chuckle.

“I promise you, Haydn, if you wait, if you give him the time he needs, those kisses will be well worth your patience.”

The boy cocked his head to the side and eyed Kurt carefully. “Promise?” he asked.

Kurt smiled and ruffled the lad’s hair. “I promise! Now, get out of here before your mom wonders where you’ve got to.”

Haydn stood up and collected his bag from the floor. “Thanks Mr H, you really are something special!”

“Well now, I couldn’t agree more.”

The third voice came from the doorway and both Kurt and Haydn looked up, surprised to find Haydn’s coach standing in the doorway, a smile creasing his face but by now Kurt had also learnt to read the disguised language of the man’s eyes and he saw the concern registered in those dark hazelnut spheres. Blaine spoke again.

“I’m sorry – were you still rehearsing? I could come back later…”

Haydn was the first to respond, shaking his head. “No! Coach, stay – we’re all done here,” he announced and turning back to Kurt, he thanked the choirmaster for his time. “Thanks again, Mr H. I owe you one.”

The two teachers watched the boy walk out of the room before Blaine turned to Kurt.

“I came to see if I could walk you to your car and maybe persuade you to have coffee with me at the _Lima Bean_ ,” he explained somewhat sheepishly and Kurt grinned.

“You can most certainly walk me to my car but I’m afraid I have to get home right away. I need to relieve the day-care nurse.” Blaine’s face fell slightly but brightened considerably when Kurt continued speaking. “You know, I have been known to make a pretty spectacular cup of coffee at home. Would you like to come over? Maybe you could even stay and have dinner with my dad and me?” Kurt hoped there was no trace of the desperation he felt was so obvious in his voice but despite the eagerness evident in his eyes, Blaine was reluctant.

“Kurt, I don’t want to encroach on your time with your dad. I just really wanted to see you again. I had such an amazing time with you last night.” The blush was back on Blaine’s cheeks and Kurt’s heart melted.

“Me too!” he agreed, “and I’d love for you to come over. My dad won’t mind at all. But you’d best be warned, I’m gonna wrap you in an apron and put you to work in my kitchen,” he promised.

“Oh, really?” grinned Blaine, “Now that sounds exciting and … um … will I be barefoot in your kitchen, Mr Hummel?” he asked wriggling his eyebrows up and down.

Kurt started to giggle and Blaine watched as the blush deepened on his cheek. This light flirting and teasing was still very new to them.

“Wanky!” came the sarcastic voice from the door, “Lady Lips, you and the hobbit do know that this is an educational institution, don’t you? We are surrounded by young impressionable teens.”

“Hello, Santana,” greeted Kurt, sad that his fun, flirty moment with Blaine had been interrupted, but managing to keep his tone neutral.

“What’s up ‘Tana?” asked Blaine aiming for nonchalance but failing miserably as his cheeks flared bright red.

“I came to find out what you were doing tonight but from what I just had the misfortune to overhear, apparently your plans involve dirty cooking in the Hummel kitchen. I swear if you two give that dear man another heart attack. I will - ”

“Santana!” Kurt’s voice was sharp in rebuke. “Don’t overstep.”

“Whatever,” she shrugged not concerned in the least.

Blaine, as always, was quick to intervene. “I thought you were going out tonight with that girl from the bar on Saturday night – Linda, Laura, Lolly – whatever the hell her name is, ’Tana?” Blaine asked when he ran out of options.

“It’s Lauren, and no, she bailed on me two minutes ago,” Santana complained, holding her phone up as evidence - Exhibit A.

Blaine was genuinely sad for his friend and colleague. “Ah, I’m sorry, ‘Tana – that bites.”

“Nah, whatever; I’m totally over it,” Santana replied indifferently, shrugging her shoulders and flicking back her hair.

“Do you…” Kurt hesitated and bit his lip. “Do you want to come over to my house and join us for dinner, Santana?”

Behind her, Blaine’s eyes stretched wide with disbelief but Kurt wouldn’t look at him when Blaine tried to gain the man’s attention with a few slight head shakes.

Santana laughed. “Hummel – you’re very sweet but can you hear Blaine shouting, ‘ _please say no, please say no_ ’ or is it just me?” She patted his arm. “Nah, you boys have fun – Auntie Snix will be just fine all on her own.”

Blaine sighed in audible relief, causing Kurt to begin to giggle.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” she announced and, as she walked out the door, she yelled, “Be careful you two and use protection!”

In her wake, Blaine and Kurt were left speechlessly embarrassed, gaping like goldfish, neither one able to make eye contact until, eventually, Kurt broke the awkward moment saying, “We should probably go,” to which Blaine readily agreed.

************************************************************************************************************************

The image of his roommate on Kurt’s computer screen was perfectly clear which meant he could see the tired lines in Rachel’s face as they chatted much later that evening.

“We can chat some other time, Rachel” he suggested kindly, “I can see you’re tired.”

“No! Kurt, no, don’t you dare leave me now that I’ve finally got you online. I want details, Mister,” she begged and Kurt smiled at her.

“In any case, I can sleep late tomorrow,” she rationalised and then with a commanding voice continued. “Now, come, talk to me. Begin with the date last night and then go on to tonight’s date. Wow! What number are you guys on now?”

“Um…number? … We’re not really counting? At least, I haven’t been. I’m just really enjoying his company. Last night was definitely a date though. When he picked me up, he brought flowers, Rachel, flowers!”

Kurt totally appreciated the high-pitched squeal which came from his friend in New York City. Clapping her hands together in delight, Rachel asked, “Oooohhhhh, what flowers, Kurt? ‘Cause you know the type of flower and the colour he chose could mean something. I should totally Google that for you to find out and - ”

“I don’t know about it meaning anything, Rachel,” Kurt interrupted the diva on the other side. “Red and yellow roses – the same that he gave me on opening night. I’m happy if it simply means that he’s a really, really sweet guy.”

“So, what was the date like?”

On his screen Kurt could see Rachel settling back comfortably against the pillows on her bed and for a moment he was overcome with a wave of homesickness for New York and their loft apartment such as he’d not experienced since arriving in Lima. Mentally shrugging off the feeling, he replied to her question.

“He was very attentive. He drove us to a restaurant between here and Westerville which was great because then we knew the chances of us bumping into anyone from the school were pretty slim.”

“And?” Rachel’s need for information was insatiable.

“And … we chatted, Rachel, just like old friends. It was so easy. We chatted about absolutely everything and it was fantastic. I just felt that I could be myself.”

On the computer screen, Rachel nodded in understanding and smiled happily at her friend as he continued to describe his evening.

“Do you remember when I was with Adam, I told you how I always thought I had to be this perfect version of what he wanted me to be and that I always felt somehow I failed miserably to meet whatever his expectations were?”

“Yes, yes I do remember. We had loads of conversations over red wine about that problem,” agreed Rachel.

“Well, it’s totally different with Blaine – he just kinda gets me. You know how Adam would freak out whenever I left any food behind on my plate? He would always tell me it was ‘ _really tacky and not classy at all’_ but then, he would refuse to eat anything I was leaving even if we both knew it was something he quite enjoyed?”

When Rachel continued to nod, saying, “Yeah, I know that used to drive you insane. He was always so critical of you.”

Kurt went on. “Well, last night, when I moved all the olives to the side of my plate, Blaine asked if I was going to eat them and, when I replied no, he simply speared them off my plate with his fork and ate them, grinning at me like he was ever so pleased with himself.” Kurt sighed. “It was so easy Rachel – I genuinely enjoyed it.”

“I’m so happy for you, Kurt,” Rachel commented.

“And the compliments, Rachel – he doesn’t stop. Every time he sees me, Blaine compliments my outfit.”

‘”As well he should!” Rachel countered. “And what about him, Kurt? Does he dress well?” Rachel was concerned, “because you know, he’s a football coach and well, generally they’re not known for their dress sense.”

Kurt shook his head in Blaine’s defence. “No, Rachel, he’s definitely got dress sense. He looked awesome last night and shit, he smelled divine.”

Rachel watched as Kurt’s eyes glowed with happiness in the light of her computer screen. She was thrilled for her friend and roommate.

“So, is it official, then? Did he ask for you guys to be exclusive or something?”

“No, not yet. Um … do you think -”

“Well then, why don’t you ask? You don’t have to be the one to wonder about it. If you want to be his boyfriend – then ask him!”

But Kurt shook his head. “He’s got lots on his mind at the moment, Rachel. This evening at dinner, he and my dad spoke endlessly about the game this weekend. Perhaps, I’ll see on Saturday night?”

Rachel sat up in her bed. “Saturday night? What’s happening then?” she asked.

“He asked me this evening if I would go with him to Jeff’s bar _The C Note_ \- remember I told you about it? He’s booked to play there on Saturday and we’ll stay overnight at Nick and Jeff’s. Perhaps after the game and after his gig, I’ll talk to him about what’s happening but for now, Rachel you know, it’s just … nice.”

Kurt closed his eyes and remembered the soft touch of Blaine’s lips and the sound of his voice murmuring against Kurt’s own lips.

 

_“Mmm … that’s nice,” Blaine’s lips tried to form words as they separated briefly from a sweet kiss at the door, following their date. However, Kurt found himself clinging to the man, his hand fisting Blaine’s jacket against his chest._

_“So do it again,” he whispered in shameless invitation._

_Blaine chuckled and closed the gap between them yet again. This time his tongue ran lightly along Kurt’s bottom lip and the man in his arms shuddered as a tremble ran through his body. Emboldened, Blaine allowed his tongue to push questioningly at the crease in Kurt’s mouth and, with a happy sigh, Kurt opened his mouth, allowing Blaine’s tongue to push inside. Gently, the visiting tongue explored the inside of Kurt’s mouth seeking out the man’s tongue to caress and stimulate. Kurt moaned in his arms and Blaine tightened his grip to steady him. Eventually, they had to separate to find air to breathe again and Kurt was left panting._

_“That was …” he tried to explain._

_Blaine agreed, brushing the back of his hand against Kurt’s cheek. “Yeah, it was. But I should go. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”_

_Kurt nodded, trying hard to hide his disappointment that the evening was coming to a close. Why couldn’t the night just last forever? Was that really so much to ask?_

_He swallowed and whispered softly, “Good night, Blaine. I had an amazing time tonight. Thank you.”_

_Blaine leaned forward and captured the man’s lips again but before he could deepen the kiss and lose himself in the wondrous marvel that was Kurt Hummel’s mouth, he stepped away and tugged tenderly at Kurt’s jacket collar, saying hoarsely, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”_

 

 

“Kurt?”

“Kurt! Hey, Kurt!”

“I’m sorry Rachel,” Kurt was embarrassed. “I think I zoned out there a bit.”

“Yeah, that you did! Honey, I’m going to let you get to sleep. Looks like you need it more than me,” Rachel chuckled and they bade farewell with promises to chat again real soon.

Kurt put away his laptop and changed into his pyjamas. He was in the bathroom cleaning his face when a sound from his phone alerted him to an incoming message. Once his face was clean and his teeth brushed, he switched off the bathroom light, closed the door and climbed into bed with the phone he had picked up off the dresser. In the soft light from the bedside lamp he read the message.

**[BLAINE] Going to sleep thinking of you – hoping to dream too.**

Smiling with the giddy excitement of a teenager, Kurt tapped out a reply.

[KURT] Me too, Blaine, me too!

 

Blaine closed his phone and placed it on the small table beside his bed. Grabbing a pillow to cuddle, he crept further down the bed and pulled the comforter up over his ears. He closed his eyes and found Kurt there. Sighing happily, he allowed his mind to drift back to the Hummel kitchen earlier that evening.

 

_Having helped Kurt assist his father back up the stairs after dinner, Blaine had returned to the kitchen alone while Kurt remained upstairs, fussing over his dad. Blaine was rinsing the dinner dishes and stacking the dishwasher when Kurt returned._

_“Hey, you don’t need to do that, Blaine. You’ve done enough tonight.” Kurt protested._

_“On the contrary, Mr Hummel,” Blaine teased, “I don’t think I’ve done nearly enough!” He winked and while Kurt was distracted, Blaine suddenly lifted him up in his arms and, without much effort, placed him skilfully on the kitchen counter, moving to stand comfortably between the man’s legs._

_“Is this okay?” he murmured, closing the distance between them._

_“Oh Blaine,” sighed Kurt happily, giving in to the warm and close embrace of the coach, “So okay.” Blaine nuzzled Kurt’s neck causing the man in his arms to whimper in his ear and Blaine moaned._

_“The sounds you make, Kurt; they should be illegal,” he commented and Kurt giggled._

_“Kiss me, Blaine. Please just kiss me,” he begged._

_And Blaine obliged because he was beginning to understand that making Kurt happy, seeing Kurt happy and keeping Kurt happy was his official mission on earth. The rest was just mere detail but this man, this gorgeous man, whimpering and sighing happily in his embrace right this minute, was why he, Blaine Devon Anderson, had been born._

_With his tongue tickling the inside of Kurt’s mouth and massaging teeth and tongue, Blaine let his arms roam down the man’s back until they reached the curves of his ass which were wrapped snuggly into the tight jeans Kurt was wearing. He let his hands just rest there, enjoying the way Kurt’s breath hitched as his thumbs began to stroke ever so gently._

_“Blaine,” Kurt moaned and pulled his mouth away to gulp in air. He took Blaine’s face in both his hands and looked deep into the man’s eyes. “You drive me insane,” he declared through lips red and swollen from kissing._

_“That’s the general plan,” agreed Blaine with a smile and he dipped his mouth into the softness of Kurt’s neck and gently licked a stripe up to his ear which he then proceeded to nibble._

_Kurt giggled and squirmed in Blaine’s hold. “Tickles,” he complained but, in contrast to his pronouncement, he arched his neck to the side, giving Blaine just that much more skin to attack, which he did with absolute enthusiasm._

_Kurt’s hands struggled to find purchase against Blaine’s sweater and he ran his fingers up and down the man’s back, all the while gasping with pleasure._

_“So good, Blaine. You make me feel so good,” he whimpered as Blaine’s hand found the hem of Kurt’s shirt tucked into the jeans._

_Trapped! Blaine’s fingers supplied his brain with vital reconnaissance information. Kurt’s shirt is trapped! Must rescue shirt! Must free shirt!_

_With a frustrated growl, Blaine began to pull at the shirt until he freed it from the jeans and pushed it out of his way so he could finally touch the exquisitely soft skin beneath._

_“Aah,” yelped Kurt in sudden surprise, “Cold hands! Blaine, cold hands,” and he squirmed away out of Blaine’s grip._

_Abruptly, Blaine pulled his hands back and held them up in surrender, his face one of hopeless horror as he stepped away from Kurt._

_“Crap! Sorry Kurt! I’m so sorry. That was .. Shit! I’m sorry.” Trying to get the apology out faster, he stumbled over his words._

_Kurt stopped his apology with a chaste kiss on the lips as he jumped down from the counter, moved forward towards Blaine and took him into his arms._

_“No, don’t apologise! Please, Blaine? That was hot … or, at least, it was until it was … cold,” he giggled and Blaine allowed himself to chuckle as well._

_“You are amazing, Kurt. Have I told you that yet?”_

_“Mmm …You might have mentioned it once or twice.” Kurt smiled in reply._

_Blaine’s hands came up, one on each side to engulf Kurt’s face and he peered intently into Kurt’s eyes. “I just never want to do anything to make you feel uncomfortable,” he whispered._

_Kurt shook his head. “Blaine, you are incredible and this … this between us … is incredible and I’m blown away by my feelings for you and I am more than comfortable in your arms but you should get some sleep. It’s a big day tomorrow and you, my handsome, … (kiss) … hot … (kiss) … coach … (kiss)… need to be awesome.”_

 

Lying in his bed, Blaine touched a finger to his lips, remembering the sweet caress of Kurt’s lips landing there punctuating his words.

“Everything’s just perfect,” he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

 

 

 


	15. Personal Foul

**Personal Foul**

_**An illegal, flagrant foul considered risky to the health of another player.** _

 

Much, much later, as Kurt struggled to relay the horrifying events to both his father and Carole, he could, in reality, only remember fleeting flashes of images mixed with disembodied conversations which served to make the entire experience of the previous night seem peculiarly surreal.

The first hazy moment was of that stereotypical frozen instant as Haydn, running towards the goal line with the ball in his hands, was roughly tackled to the ground by a member of the opposition team and the referee, his teammates, coaches and, indeed, even the crowd, waited expectantly for him to get up. There was a beat, Kurt remembered, an infinitesimal beat when the entire stadium was, surprisingly, dead quiet but then, suddenly, a shrill, terrified teenaged voice pierced the silence. Randy stood up from the bench, his helmet in his hand and yelled, “Haydn!”

His frightened shout seemed to galvanise the surrounding adults into action because, within mere seconds, the on-site medical team was racing determinedly towards the inert figure lying prone on the hard ground. They were followed closely by Blaine, Sam and Randy, too. Kurt watched anxiously as a small huddle formed around the obviously injured player, effectively blocking the spectators’ view. Kurt hadn’t joined in the respectful applause which acknowledged the awful sight of Haydn, his neck secure in a brace, being carried on a stretcher towards the waiting ambulance; instead, he had made his way off the bleachers and had come to stand alongside a subdued Santana at the edge of the field.

Then, there had been the blurry, frenzied moment when Kurt heard Blaine firing rapid instructions to his stunned football team and to Sam to “ _go ahead and win this damn thing_ ” while he would drive Haydn’s mom and little sister behind the ambulance to the hospital.

Kurt’s head jerked up when he heard Randy ask, “Coach, can I ride with Haydn in the ambulance?”

But, Blaine shook his head in regret, “No, Randy, he’s unconscious. They’re not letting anyone ride in the back with him. I’m going to take his mom and sister to the hospital in my car. You need to finish this game, please?”

“Coach, I can’t! I have to go with him,” Randy was stubbornly adamant. “You don’t understand. He … he needs me.”

“Your team needs you, Randy,” Blaine insisted gently. “Look, there’re just a few minutes left in this final quarter - ”

“And we’re winning by a huge margin,” interrupted Randy urgently. “Julian can kick in my place. Coach, please, I … I _need_ to be with Haydn.”

“Randy, Coach Anderson is right,” Haydn’s mom intervened softly. “Your team needs you right now. I’ll call you after the game from the hospital with news. Okay?”

Jenny’s tone was kind and sympathetic towards her son’s best friend but the teenage boy before her shook his head vehemently and Kurt could see the tears gathering in his eyes.

“No!” he raised his voice in desperation, “you don’t understand! None of you understand.”

“Boy! You quit your whining now and do as the coach tells you!” Randy’s father’s voice was gruff and unyielding as it rang out from where he was standing on the other side of Santana. “Get out there and finish this game. Do you hear me?”

“No!” Randy was resolute, despite the displeasure he found in his father’s eyes when he turned to face the older man. “I am going to the hospital with Haydn. He’s my …”

And in that critical moment, Kurt held his breath and locked wide, frightened eyes with Blaine as the world around them seemed to come to a complete stand still.

“… my boyfriend …”

The confession exploded from Randy as he defiantly eyed both his father and Haydn’s mother.

“… and I need to be there with him now! Screw the game! It doesn’t matter! Nothing matters! Only him.”

Randy turned once more to Blaine, his watery eyes entreating, “Please, Coach – take me with you?”

Kurt closely observed Randy’s father’s angry face dissolve into one of disgust. He looked his son up and down, his eyes narrowing with revulsion. Slowly, he turned his back and walked away with his hands jammed deep in his trouser pockets.

In the face of the man’s abrupt departure, Blaine grabbed Randy’s hand and held it tight as he issued a new set of instructions to his assistant coach.

“Sam, get Jules warmed up. He’s going to go in to kick if you guys need it.”

He turned to register Nick and Jeff standing worriedly beside Kurt. “Can you guys - ? … I’m going to drive Haydn’s mom and sister in her car; will you bring Randy to the hospital in yours, Kurt?” Kurt nodded quickly.

“We’ve got this, Blaine, go!” Nick assured his friend who released Randy’s hand with a tight squeeze and hastily ushered Haydn’s mom and little sister ahead of him towards the car park.

Kurt turned to Randy who suddenly shivered in his football uniform. “I’m only going to take you to the hospital if you go now to the locker rooms, shower and change into something warm,” he instructed sternly.

“Kurt’s right,” Jeff agreed. “We can’t have you getting ill. Haydn’s going to need you hale and hearty right now.”

The young boy tuned bewildered eyes to the three adults surrounding him.

“Go!” Nick encouraged kindly, “We’ll be waiting.”

“I promise,” affirmed Kurt.

 

Then, there were the endless moments of waiting; waiting for news, waiting for someone to come through the door to the waiting room and put an end to their waiting. When a nurse did enter the sparsely-decorated room, it was to inform the small crowd that had gathered there that Haydn was conscious again but he was complaining that he couldn’t feel his legs.

Vaguely, Kurt recalled snatches of memory of Randy crying in Jenny’s arms as she tried to console the distraught teen. At one point, Haydn’s little sister had been comforted by Nick when she’d crawled onto his lap and fallen fast asleep. Kurt snatched a snippet of a memory of Jeff tucking himself into his boyfriend’s side, laying his head on Nick’s shoulder and slipping a hand protectively over the little girl.

When Kurt brought Blaine a cup of coffee from the hospital cafeteria, the coach smiled his grateful thanks with tired, sad eyes but he reached up to pull Kurt down into the chair beside him.

“What do you need, Blaine?” Kurt asked quietly and Blaine looked at him with a desperate expression.

“Hold me, please? Just hold me tight?”

And Kurt could do just that. Placing the obviously unwanted coffee on the table in front of them, he pulled the football coach into his arms and held fast.

“Don’t let me go,” Blaine whispered, pleading his request from the safe haven of Kurt’s chest where his head rested.

“I won’t, Blaine,” promised Kurt. “I won’t ever let you go,” and he pressed a soothing kiss to the man’s temple.

There was also that moment of heightened anxiety as the door swung open and a nurse walked in, asking for Mrs Stafford to accompany her to Haydn’s room and those left behind in the waiting room, clung to each other for comfort. When Jenny did return later - it seemed to Kurt that she’d been gone forever - the crowd in the waiting room rose to their exhausted feet and clamoured around her for news.

“It’s _not_ good news but it’s not _all_ bad news,” she tried to explain as Jeff wrapped his arms around Randy’s shoulders offering the teen some much-needed support.

“The doctor explained to me that there is severe pressure on the nerves between his vertebrae caused by extensive swelling. That could possibly explain the reason for the paralysis. They will only know in a day or two when the swelling goes down whether it is permanent or not.”

It was all Kurt could do to hold Blaine up straight as the coach’s entire body seemed to absorb the devastating news like a physical punch.

“Randy,” Haydn’s mom called out to the boy slumped in Jeff’s arms, “I told him you were here. He’s in ICU but the staff sister there said I could sneak you in real quick. He’d really like to see you.”

Immediately, Randy moved out of Jeff’s arms towards the door as Jenny turned to Blaine. “Coach, you need to get home.”

“No, Ma’am,” Blaine declined politely, “I’d like to stay, if that’s okay?” But the woman shook her head and laid her hand on the coach’s arm, patting as she spoke.

“No, Blaine dear. Go home, get some rest, and celebrate your team’s victory. Haydn will still be here in the morning and you could come by then,” she argued bravely and then she looked at Kurt. “Mr Hummel – take him home for me.”

“Yes Ma’am,” agreed Kurt.

“Lucy,” she called softly to the sleeping girl in Nick’s arms. “Lucy, come baby – we’re going to go say hi to Haydn.”

Almost reluctantly, Nick relinquished the sleepy girl to her mom and, despite the trauma they were all swept up in, Kurt caught the look of intense longing on Nick’s face as his arms emptied.

And finally, there was a dimly disquieting moment in which Kurt remembered driving the three men back to the school where they collected Blaine’s car. Nick promised to get Blaine safely home to bed, leaving Kurt to drive home alone.

***************************************************************************************************************************

**[BLAINE] I can’t sleep. Are you awake?**

 

In the darkness, Kurt heard his phone signal the arrival of a new message. He reached across to the side-table to lift his phone, saw it was 3am and read Blaine’s message with a soft expression on his face.

 

[KURT] No, I actually can’t. Been tossing and turning since I came to bed.

 **[BLAINE]** **No warm milk, huh?**

[KURT] Actually, yeah, Carole made some for me when I got home. She stayed up after my dad went to sleep but when he heard me come in, he woke up and they wanted to know everything. Blaine it’s unbelievable. I mean, did this really happen?

 **[BLAINE]** **I know. I can’t close my eyes because I keep playing that moment over and over in my head. I could see it wasn’t going to end well the second he landed. I felt that crash like it was my own body and now the sensation and sound won’t leave me.**

[KURT] Hold on… I’m gonna ring you.

 

Blaine picked up immediately.

“Hey, Beautiful,” he spoke softly into the mouthpiece, his tired voice reminding Kurt of warm honey. “You didn’t need to ring. You should get some sleep.”

“Blaine, don’t be silly. You’re hurting and I don’t want you to go through this on your own. You don’t have to - I’m here; that is, if you want me to be?”

“Kurt,” Blaine breathed. “You’ve captured my heart and no, I really don’t want to have to deal with this on my own. I’m not strong enough, so, yeah, please be here for me.”

Kurt smiled in the darkness of his room. Blaine wanted him. Blaine needed him.

“Okay,” he whispered, here’s what I want you to do,” he instructed. “Close your eyes and listen to my voice. Don’t say anything – just listen. Will you do that for me?”

“Anything, Beautiful; anything for you,” Blaine whispered. “My eyes are closed. What now?”

“Just listen.”

Kurt began to hum a melody and Blaine’s lips twitched in recognition of The Beatles’ song: _I wanna hold your hand._

“S’nice,” he murmured.

“Shhh,” replied Kurt before softly replacing the humming with the melodic words of the song. By the time he’d come to the end he could hear Blaine’s rhythmic breathing signalling his sleep and with a satisfied smile, Kurt ended the call.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Down

  **Down**

_**A period of action that starts when the ball is put into play and ends when the ball is ruled dead** _

 

“Kurt?” Carole’s voice was soft but insistent. “Kurt, honey, I’m sorry to wake you.”

As his step-mother rubbed her hand up and down his upper arm, Kurt came drifting back to consciousness slowly, his eyes still gritty with sleep. He wiped an unsteady hand across his forehead and sat up in bed, disorientated.

“m’wake wha’sit?” his lips stumbled over the statement and question.

“Oh sweetie, I am so sorry to wake you but Mercedes is on the landline wanting to speak to you. She says your phone is switched off.”

Kurt looked over to the bedside table where he had placed his phone the previous night but it wasn’t there. Confused, he looked around the room.

“Carole, my phone’s gone!” he gasped in alarm but, as he squirmed around in bed to get a better look around the room, his thigh nudged something hard and cold under the covers. Intrigued, he reached down beneath the comforter to retrieve the missing phone and only then did he remember his late-night call to Blaine.

“Oh!” he muttered as the pleasant memory surfaced and he blushed. “I rang Blaine last night. He couldn’t sleep,” he explained, looking at Carole sheepishly.

Carole nodded in understanding. “I’m sure he couldn’t. Look, you wake up properly and freshen up. I’ll make you some coffee and tell Mercedes you’ll ring her back as soon as you’re up, okay?”

“Thanks, Carole,” Kurt replied and threw the covers off himself as he stood up to plug his phone in to charge. As soon as the battery made connection, his phone came to life with several missed calls from Mercedes and from Blaine too. His phone also alerted him to a few messages awaiting his attention. The time on his phone read 11:40 just as his stomach rumbled in hunger.

Kurt groaned. _Great this day has started without me. I’ll be playing catch-up all day_. Quickly, he skimmed through the messages, pausing only at those from Blaine.

 

[BLAINE] 09h00 Good morning! I slept sooooo well! Thank you, Beautiful.

[BLAINE] 09h30 Just spoke to Haydn’s mom – no real change. Drs are running all sorts of tests today.

[BLAINE] 09h35 She had Randy sleep over at her house last night and he’s going with her to the hospital later. She said not to worry to come today – rather tomorrow.

[BLAINE] 10h00 So, I’m guessing you’re not awake yet.

[BLAINE] 10h10 I’m really hoping your lack of communication is ‘cos you’re sleeping and not that you’re ignoring me.

[BLAINE] 10h30 Sam’s here – we’re gonna go run. Ring me when you wake up?

[BLAINE] 10h33 Please?

[BLAINE] 10h35 Santana says I’m an idiot and Nick and Jeff are laughing at me. Please prove her right….

 

Kurt smiled to himself as he read the increasingly desperate tone in the last few messages. This thing between them was still so new, it was scary for each to be both invested and yet nervous too. They really needed to spend some quality time alone together. He looked at his watch and decided to ring Blaine before contacting Mercedes.

Blaine answered on the first ring. “Kurt?”

“Blaine, Hi, I’m so sorry! I’ve just woken up and found my phone which was dead flat. I must have fallen asleep last night before I had a chance to plug it in as I usually do.”

“Oh, that’s a relief to hear,” laughed Blaine on the other side. “I was driving Santana insane with my insecurities and she made Sam give me a hell of a workout as penance. We actually just got back now.”

“I’m sorry to have made you worry but Blaine why would you think I was ignoring you? I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“It’s just, I - ” Blaine paused, a little unsure how to continue. “In the past, we’ve - ” He tried again, but stopped once more, hesitant to refer to previous misunderstandings between them.

Kurt was a lot braver. “No, you’re right, actually. Our past history has been rather turbulent to say the least and I guess we’re still finding our feet here, right?”

“I’m sorry,” muttered Blaine into the phone and Kurt could just picture the man standing with his head bowed low and his shoulders slumped.

“No, don’t be. Blaine - ” he exhorted, “come on – we’ve got tonight to look forward to. That’s, if it’s still going ahead? Shit! I didn’t think. Blaine, it’s totally fine if you want to postpone tonight.”

“Kurt, no, no … not at all. Jeff made me the same offer before he and Nick left for Westerville earlier. No, look I’ve spoken to Jenny and she says that apparently Haydn slept through the night – probably because of the pain medication he’s on and the doctor explained that they would be running many tests today. Besides he’s in ICU and they don’t really admit visitors. No, like I said to Jeff, I really need this. I need to lose myself in the piano tonight,” Blaine insisted.

“Okay, but maybe you don’t want me hanging around while you do that,” offered Kurt, somewhat reluctantly.

“No Kurt, actually that’s the opposite of what I want. Is it terrible to say I really need you? I desperately want to be with you, Kurt. Please say you’ll come with me – just as we’d arranged?”

“If you’re sure, Blaine?”

“Yes, yes of course I’m totally sure, Beautiful - ” Blaine was quick to offer reassurances before continuing cautiously, “ - and is it still okay that we stay over at Nick and Jeff’s place tonight? If you’d prefer not to, I could drive you back to your house, afterwards?”

“No, that’s perfectly fine,” Kurt affirmed. “Carole has the whole weekend off, Blaine. I’m not needed here at all.”

“Jolly good then, because I need you – very much!” Blaine stated happily. “I’ll collect you around four this afternoon – that okay?”

“Right. I’ll see you then … and Blaine …?”

“Yes, Beautiful?”

“Santana’s right. You _are_ an idiot!”

 

Blaine was still chuckling as he ended the call and looked up to find Santana standing in the doorway of his bedroom with a satisfied smirk on her face.

“And?” she asked, “Has he broken up with you? Does he never want to see your ugly, needy face again? All of those things you were worried about – they true?” she demanded smugly.

Blaine shook his head. “Don’t ‘Tana – you’re right, I _am_ an idiot. It’s just like he said – our history so far has been rather turbulent but I really want to spend some time with him and get to know him.”

“Yes, well, I’m assuming you and he will _know_ each other in the biblical sense of the word very well at your sleepover tonight,” Santana teased.

Blaine was outraged and blushed profusely at her remark. “Santana! Are you nuts? We’re nowhere near that stage! I haven’t even asked him if he’d be my boyfriend yet.”

Santana simply raised her eyebrow at her flatmate. “Then what in all holy hell are you waiting for, Hobbit? Ask him tonight – before you go back to Nick and Jeff’s – then you can _know_ him all you like.”

“Out!” Blaine pointed to his door. “Santana, you are a wicked, wicked woman and I have no idea why we are even friends!”

She shrugged her shoulders unperturbed at his outburst. “Whatever! You love me. Look, Sam and I are going out for lunch, do you want to join us?”

He shook his head. “No, I think I’ll take a rain check. I need to polish a few songs before tonight. You guys enjoy. I’ll see you tomorrow sometime?”

*************************************************************************************************************************

Hours later, Blaine had collected Kurt from his house and the two of them were driving to Westerville in comfortable companionship. Blaine had given Kurt an update on Haydn’s condition and the two of them were discussing the possible repercussions of Randy’s bold declaration the previous evening.

“Did you see his father’s face, Blaine?” asked Kurt. “I thought his head might explode it was so red.”

“No, to be honest, I didn’t see him at all. I was so focused on Haydn’s mom, the team and then Randy, I didn’t even notice that his dad was there,” Blaine replied grimly.

“If what Haydn has told me about Randy’s conservative family is anywhere near the truth, then this is going to be very difficult on the two of them,” Kurt mused.

“But, Jenny seemed to take it all in her stride. She really is an amazing woman,” Blaine remarked and Kurt agreed.

“Haydn explained to me that she was completely accepting of him when he came ‘out’ to her so I’m sure she’ll just embrace this relationship of theirs and allow them the time and space to figure it all out,” he said.

Blaine nodded. “I just hope and pray this paralysis does turn out to be temporary, Kurt. I’m not sure the boys could cope with an injury that severe. Nah, forget that; I don’t think I could cope with it.”

Kurt reached across the centre console of the car and laid his hand gently on Blaine’s thigh. “I think I understand, Blaine,” he comforted.

Briefly, Blaine took his eyes off the road and glanced down, first at Kurt’s hand on his thigh and then at Kurt’s face which was turned towards him in sympathy. Kurt caught and held Blaine’s gaze briefly and, before Blaine returned his eyes to the road, Kurt could see they were glistening with unshed tears. Taking one hand off the steering wheel, Blaine reached down to grasp Kurt’s hand in his own. The two men signalled their silent reassurances as they squeezed one another’s hands before Blaine returned his hand to its place on the steering wheel.

“Tell me more about tonight, Blaine. What are you going to sing?” Kurt easily turned their conversation away from the traumatic injury Haydn was facing and the memories that invoked for Blaine bringing it around to a subject Blaine obviously loved talking about as the man answered enthusiastically.

Before long, they pulled into a parking bay outside the bar and Blaine was opening the door for Kurt and, with a hand on the small of his back, rushing him inside to get out of the bitterly cold wind. The door closed behind them and a happy voice rang out from the dark depths of the large room.

“Kurt! Yay! You’re here!”

Jeff was obviously very pleased to see him and gave Blaine a smirk as he walked towards them with his arms spread wide. “Did I or did I not tell you, Blaine, that you are a bit of a drama queen?”

“Shut up, Blondie, or you will find yourself and Nick entertaining your crowds tonight,” returned Blaine effortlessly.

“Oh,” squealed Kurt delightedly, “that would be fun to hear, I think.”

“Ha! Ha! Nope, not gonna happen,” Jeff countered, “My warblering days are over!” As he took the men’s jackets from them, he gestured to the front of the room opposite the bar counter, “Blaine, the guys are ready. If you want to go ahead and do a sound check, I’ll keep Kurt occupied here.”

“Mmm…. I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Angel.” Nick had snuck up behind his boyfriend and wrapped his arms around the blonde man’s waist, resting his head on Jeff’s one shoulder. “They need you in the kitchen for a moment. I’ll take care of Kurt.” Jeff nodded briefly in understanding and walked away quickly.

“Although why you all think I need taking care of …” pouted Kurt indignantly. “I’ll just sit here and listen to Blaine’s sound check,” and his arm gestured vaguely to where the tables were set up for the evening’s entertainment.

“And, I’ll sit with you,” Nick agreed, “just as soon as I’ve ordered a drink for us. What would you like, Kurt?”

“I’d love a coffee, Nick – is that possible?” he asked in reply.

Nicked nodded, a broad grin on his face. “Just what I was thinking – something to keep us all awake tonight, huh?”

Blaine took Kurt’s hand in his. “You sure you’ll be okay. Sorry to have to leave you as soon as we arrive,” he apologised.

Kurt shook his head. “No, no, I’m good. Go do what you need to do, Mr Anderson,” he replied, his voice soft and tender.

Blaine raised his hand and ran the back of his fingers lightly down Kurt’s cheek in what was fast becoming a signature move of his and Kurt adored it.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Blaine whispered. “Thank you for coming.”

Kurt grabbed ahold of the hand on his cheek and brought it to his lips where he kissed each knuckle gently. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. Go make magic, Mr Piano Man.”

Blaine made his way towards the small raised platform near the front of the room where he greeted a few of the Tech guys who were milling around, tinkering with the sound equipment. Kurt sat down at a table towards the middle of the room and was soon by joined by Nick.

“Everything okay?” Nick asked, his one eyebrow raised in question as he passed Kurt a warm mug of steaming coffee.

“Everything’s perfect,” Kurt grinned and blew on the surface of the coffee to cool it down before taking a careful sip. He swallowed and looked across the table at Nick.

“Can I ask you something, Nick?” he asked, placing the coffee on the table between them.

“Sure what’s up?”

“How long have you and Jeff been dating?”

“Oh, _that_ question, huh?” Nick smiled.

“I’m sorry!” Kurt stumbled over an apology. “Is it too intrusive? My dad will tell you and Blaine too, I guess, I have absolutely no filter.”

Nick held up a hand to stem the apologies falling from Kurt’s lips. “Kurt, relax! It’s totally okay for you to ask me.” He smiled when he saw the man opposite him visibly relax and pick up his coffee mug once again, so he ventured to explain.

“We started dating the summer before our senior year at Dalton. Blaine and I became friends soon after we both started at Dalton, Jeff arrived at the start of our sophomore year and the three of us were inseparable. I later found out that Jeff had been crushing on me since the start but he thought Blaine and I were involved - which we weren’t, ever - but we’ve always been the best of friends. Jeff was confused and never thought to actually ask - idiot that he was .. is!”

Kurt laughed and after taking a sip of his coffee, Nick picked up the story again.

“Sebastian only started at Dalton in our junior year and immediately made Blaine his primary target and so, often times, Jeff and I were left to our own devices and our friendship, _sans_ Blaine, grew more solid. It was only over the summer that we made what we had together “official” and labelled it a romantic relationship, if you will. Unlike Seb and Blaine, we were determined to make it work through our college years so we both applied for the same colleges and agreed we would only go where we were both accepted. Turns out that was Ohio State. I eventually majored in English and Education and Jeff majored in Business and Fine Art. After graduation, I got the job at Dalton Academy and we moved back here to Westerville where it all began. When Jeff’s grandfather passed away leaving Jeff a considerable inheritance, he bought this bar and began to make it what it is today.”

“So … many years, huh?” Kurt summarised with a soft smile.

“Yeah, many, many years,” agreed Nick returning the smile.

“And, do you think … have you got plans to … um …”

“Marry the boy?” interrupted Nick. “That what you want to know?” he asked.

“You must forgive me, Nick” Kurt begged. “It’s just, last night, the two of you, with little Lucy, but, _you_ especially, you looked so ….. I just wondered if that’s something you’ve thought of.”

Nick closed his eyes and sighed. “It is, Kurt. Shit! Every single day since I realised I was in love with the bloody blonde, I’ve wanted to put a ring on his finger and call him my husband.”

“But you haven’t? Why?” Kurt leaned closer to Nick to hear the answer over the noise now coming from the stage in the front.

“Jeff and I talked about it - way back just before college graduation. But we decided we wouldn’t do it until it was legal for us to be married to each other here in our home state of Ohio.”

“Oh, Nick,” sighed Kurt. “You’re waiting for marriage equality.”

“In all states but particularly here, in Ohio, yeah,” Nick held Kurt’s eyes and sipped his coffee. “Jeff calls us ‘ _stark-raving mad militant activists’_ because we’re waiting but it’s just something we both feel is important for us.”

“I have to admire that, Nick. I really do. It’s not something I think I could do at all.”

“Not?” smiled Nick. “Why? You rather wanna drag Blaine back to New York with you and make an honest man out of him at the altar?” he joked.

“Nick!” Kurt gasped but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

“Excuse me, Mr Duvall,” a voice interrupted them and both men looked up to find Gus standing beside their table. “Mr Stirling needs you in the office for a moment.”

Nick grinned wickedly. “I bet he does!” he laughed, stood up and patted Kurt on the back. “Don’t worry Kurt – your secret is safe with me. I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “I just need a few minutes to sort out my angel, you know!” He winked before turning around and leaving with Gus.

Kurt was trying really hard not to gape like a fish and he willed the blush off his cheeks as he directed his attention once more to Blaine at the piano.

‘Kurt!” Blaine called when he saw the man was alone at the table. “Come up here a minute, would you?” he asked.

Kurt drained the last of his coffee, placed the mug back on the table, and stood up, straightening his shirt as he made his way through the throng of tables towards Blaine whose eyes lit up in pleasure as he approached.

“Hey, Beautiful – Come sit here with me. I want to play you something.”

Kurt took a seat beside Blaine on the piano bench, thrilling to feel Blaine so close to him again. He recognised the melody of _I wanna hold your hand_ and smiled knowingly at Blaine as he cocked his head to look at the attractive man who appeared to have morphed into a totally different person behind this piano.

“You like?” Blaine murmured.

“I like very much,” whispered Kurt and he began to sing the lyrics as Blaine played.

 

 

“Jeff! Nick!” Hayley hissed at the closed office door. “You guys have got to get out here and hear this!” She banged on the office door and was completely unapologetic when Jeff yanked open the door still tucking his shirt back into his trousers. She smirked as she observed Nick standing beside the desk trying desperately to pull up the zipper of his trousers. These two and their regular office antics didn’t bother her in the slightest but she didn’t want them to miss out on what was happening out front.

“What must I hear, Hayley? Blaine’s sound check? Really?” Jeff pouted. “Been there, done that. Countless times.”

“Yes! But you’ve never heard _this_ ,” Hayley pushed him down the corridor towards the bar’s main area.

“Oomph! Ouch, Angel? Nick stumbled into Jeff’s back when the bar owner stopped dead in his tracks.

“Listen Nicky,” Jeff commanded quietly.

The two men and Hayley stood still in the small entrance as they listened to their friend sing _Don’t go breaking my heart_ together with Kurt.

Blaine was seated at the piano while Kurt was dancing around the piano in a silly display of flirting as they alternated the lines of the song. The display ended when Kurt slid gracefully back onto the piano bench beside Blaine and they both sang the final line together, harmonising perfectly.

“Broadway is _so_ missing out at the moment,” whispered Hayley to the two men. “He’s a phenomenal performer.”

Nick and Jeff watched as Blaine turned to face Kurt on the bench and took both his hands in his. They heard him murmur, “I won’t go breaking your heart, Kurt Hummel, but would you please say you’ll be my boyfriend?”

“Oh Blaine – me too, me too! I mean, I won’t either and yes, yes I’ll be your - ”

Blaine destroyed the rest of the sentence as his lips devoured Kurt’s, his hands coming up to either side of Kurt’s face and jaw to frame the man’s ears as he held Kurt’s head fast in his grasp.

Jeff clapped his hands together excitedly and yelled, “Champagne! Champagne on the house! Yay! Let’s celebrate!”

Blaine dipped his head onto Kurt’s shoulders in embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry,” he started. “Nick and Jeff are - ”

“Insane,” Kurt completed the thought. His shoulder nudged Blaine’s head back up, thereby bringing his mouth close to Kurt’s again. Mumbling against the coach’s lips, Kurt continued, “But they love you and I can understand that.”

 

 

 

 

 


	17. Sack

  **Sack**

_**When a defensive player tackles the quarterback behind the line of scrimmage** _

 

Kurt giggled uncontrollably at the sight of Blaine trying to insert the key into the front door of Jeff and Nick’s home. Despite his very best efforts, the door remained obstinately and resolutely locked.

“Bloody Blonde probably gave me the wrong key,” muttered Blaine breathlessly in frustration, whilst at the same time, trying to stifle yet another yawn. Kurt took pity on the exhausted man.

“Here,” he directed, holding his open hand out for the key ring, “let me try. Blaine, you’re so tired you can’t even see straight. Come on, give me the key.”

Sighing deeply and slightly embarrassed by his thwarted attempts in front of Kurt, Blaine handed the key over and stepped out of the way so Kurt could move closer to the door. Once Kurt was standing in front of the door, Blaine shifted back to stand directly behind his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around the man’s trim waist and resting his chin on Kurt’s shoulder.

“S’not gonna work,” he grumbled. “Jeff’s given me the wrong keys,” he declared the instant Kurt turned the key and opened the door. Kurt wriggled out of his grasp and manoeuvred himself into the doorway where he could hold the door open for Blaine.

Grinning victoriously, he mocked gently, “You were saying?”

Blaine smiled sheepishly and entered the hallway with his head hanging low. “I’m sorry; I guess I am more tired than I thought,” he conceded as he walked passed Kurt into the living room.

Closing the front door behind him, Kurt heard the automatic lock latch into place and, as he turned around, he took a moment to look around the neatly furnished home. Blaine was tugging at his hands offering to relieve him of his overnight bag but Kurt held up a hand to decline the offer.

“No, it’s fine. You just tell me where and I‘ll put it down. There’s no need to wait on me hand and foot, Blaine.”

Blaine looked at Kurt like a small child caught with his hand in the cookie jar as he began to trip over his explanation of their sleeping arrangements.

“I .. um … well, the thing is Nick and Jeff have only got the one guest room. Um… their other room is a sort of study for Nick. I … um ... I thought that I’d sleep on their sofa over here and you could have the bed in there.” As he spoke, he directed Kurt to a large, airy room, tastefully furnished in burgundy and russet shades.

“Blaine, this bed is huge!” Kurt gasped, gesturing to the king-size bed which took up most of the floor space. You’re exhausted from the late night last night and tonight as well. You absolutely need to get a good night’s sleep. You take the bed and I’ll be fine on their sofa, really.”

“No, no – you’re like the special guest tonight. There’s no way Jeff would allow that, Kurt,” Blaine hastened to decline Kurt’s generous offer.

“Okay – then here’s what we’re going to do,” announced Kurt firmly, taking control of an awkward situation that was quickly spiralling nowhere. “We’re both going to go take a shower, change and then we’re _both_ going to get into _this_ bed and sleep until the morning. God knows I’m finished and I don’t know how you are still standing let alone talking, so let’s just agree on this one, okay?”

“You sure?” Blaine was doubtful. “Kurt, I don’t mind. I promise I didn’t have an alternative plan when I invited you to stay over tonight. I often just crash here on a Saturday night instead of travelling back home and well, … um …. honestly, I really just wanted to spend some more time with you. I didn’t mean to … I didn’t intend for us to - ”

The rest of his sentence was cut off as Kurt pressed a hand to Blaine’s mouth to still the rambling of his boyfriend. _Boyfriend_ \- the brand new word sent shivers up Kurt’s spine. It was hard for him to believe that this gorgeous man standing before him, desperate for Kurt to believe his honest, good intentions, was indeed, his boyfriend.

“Blaine, hush – it’s fine. I’m exactly where I want to be. Now, if you’ll just point me in the direction of the closest shower?”

Blaine smiled brightly. “Oh, um … yeah, well, you take the en-suite in here, just through that door there and I’ll use the master suite. Coyly, he pecked Kurt lightly on the cheek, “I’ll meet you back here in fifteen, okay?”

Kurt nodded and made his way towards the bathroom Blaine had indicated. Once inside, he deposited his toiletries on the counter top and ran the shower. He was beyond exhausted - the peril of two extraordinary late nights were beginning to claw at his eyes and once he was dry completely, he moisturised his face thoroughly and allowed two drops of natural tears to sink into his eyes to give them a soaking. Satisfied, he pulled on a pair of briefs and the navy blue pyjama set he’d packed for the night.

Knowing that he’d taken much longer than Blaine’s prescribed fifteen minutes, he quietly opened the door leading into the bedroom to find that Blaine had dimmed the overhead light to a soft glow and was propped up against several pillows, half-sitting, half-lying, on the right-hand side of the bed. His eyes were closed and his head had fallen slightly to the side.

A soft smile spread slowly over Kurt’s face as his eyes took in the sight of a sweet, defenceless, utterly beguiling Blaine Anderson.

“He sleeps,” he murmured to himself.

Kurt padded silently over to the light switch by the door and by flipping it down plunged the room into darkness. Noiselessly, he made his way to the bed where he climbed in under the covers, slid down and got comfortable on the array of pillows. He was still trying to process the fact that he was lying in bed with Blaine Anderson – golden boy of football - when his eyes closed and his thoughts shut down.

*************************************************************************************************************************

“You two better be decent because I’m coming in with coffee in exactly five minutes. You have been warned!”

Jeff’s enthusiastic yelling broke through Kurt’s slumber and roused him from the murky yet comforting depths of unconsciousness. He opened his eyes to find Blaine’s head on the pillow beside him, those honey-golden eyes staring straight at him.

“Argh,” complained Kurt without rancour, “are you watching me sleep, Coach McCreepy?”

“Mmm,” agreed Blaine with a sleepy smile. “I am indeed watching my beautiful boyfriend sleep and it is a wondrous sight.” His hand crept out from beneath the comforter and he pushed a stray lock of hair out of Kurt’s eyes. “Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

“I did,” replied Kurt. ‘What’s the time? Do you know?”

“If Jeffrey’s yelling is anything to go by, it’ll be nearly brunch time.”

“Was he serious about the coffee, do you think?” Kurt wondered. “Because, honestly, I would sell important body parts for a cup right now.”

Blaine gasped in mock horror and his hand came to rest on Kurt’s shoulder. “Kurt! No! That body is too beautiful to be destroying for coffee.”

Kurt giggled at Blaine’s over-the-top reaction. “Then what do you suggest I do instead, Blaine?” he asked attempting a bashful tone but not quite pulling it off.

“How about I trade you kisses for coffee?” his boyfriend proposed cleverly.

“Oh, that sounds like a plan,” agreed Kurt with a smile and he moved his head closer to Blaine’s on the pillow but, just before Blaine could make good on his offer, Kurt jerked back.

“But, Blaine, Jeff’s the one making the coffee shouldn’t he be the one getting the kisses?”

Blaine’s eyebrows came together in a frown. “No way; absolutely not. No kisses for Jeff. Well, not from you at least,” he qualified as Kurt giggled.

“And you, Coach of the new State Champions aren’t getting any either until we’ve remedied the dual mangy morning breath problem,” Kurt countered.

Blaine pouted as Kurt scrambled away from him and swung his legs over the side of the bed. But, when Kurt grabbed his arm, urging him to “Come on, Gorgeous,” he smiled and followed the eager man to the bathroom like an obedient puppy.

Kurt decided that standing beside Blaine, brushing their teeth was ridiculously domesticated and an event he thoroughly enjoyed. As soon as he had rinsed his toothbrush and wiped his mouth dry again, the coach of the new State Champions grabbed him and swung him up to sit on the bathroom counter top. Kurt shifted his legs to allow Blaine a more comfortable position directly in front of him, before the coach’s mouth descended on his and laid claim to his tongue. The fresh taste of toothpaste lingering on their breaths made the kiss spicier and Kurt whimpered happily in Blaine’s arms as his tongue explored more of Blaine’s mouth. Blaine released Kurt’s mouth ever so slightly, only to gently tease his lower lip between his teeth. Kurt’s hands grappled at Blaine’s back, twisting the white t-shirt in his grip as he pulled the shirt higher and higher – determined to gain access to the flesh hidden beneath.

The door to the bedroom swung open without warning and Jeff, dressed casually in blue denim jeans and a white knitted sweater, sauntered in carrying a tray loaded with coffee mugs and cookies.

“I’m coming in! Ready or not!” he announced in a sing-song voice.

Groaning in frustration, Blaine drew back from Kurt’s mouth and the man in his arms released the fabric of the t-shirt but left his hands resting on the small of Blaine’s back. They both turned towards the open door of the bathroom to spot Jeff placing the tray on the small round table near the window. The blonde host turned around and caught them both looking at him incredulously.

“Oh,” he smiled delightedly, “there you two are. I guess I was averting my eyes from the bed for nothing, then,” he smirked.

Blaine helped Kurt off the bathroom counter and the two men joined their friend in the bedroom, Kurt making a beeline for the coffee mugs.

“Jeff – you are a true gentleman. Thank you! This is going to go down so well.” He picked up the mug and moved back to the bed where he sat down, his head leaning against the headboard, and arranged the comforter over his lap and legs.

Jeff grinned and turned to Blaine. “Hear that, Blainers, my boy? I’m what they call a ‘true gentleman’.”

Blaine grimaced and, as he picked up his own coffee mug, he replied wryly, “Jeff, don’t judge Kurt. He’s barely awake; he has no idea what he’s saying!”

From his position on the bed, Kurt giggled at the easy banter between the two friends. “No, really, Jeff, thank you! The coffee’s great. Just what I needed and thank you for letting me crash here last night.”

“Well, I’m sure the pleasure was all Blaine’s,” Jeff couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as he replied, “but you are most welcome, Kurt. Anytime.” The blonde clapped his hands together ignoring the chilly glare he was getting from Blaine.

“Listen, Nick and I want to thank you for what you two did last night at the bar so we’re taking you out for brunch. Our treat.”

“Jeff, there’s no need -” began Blaine but he was interrupted by Nick’s voice coming from the doorway.

“Maybe not for you, Blaine,” he interjected, “but we’d like to thank Kurt here for joining you on stage and really for giving everyone a spectacular show last night.”

Jeff was nodding excitedly. “You won’t believe how many people came up to Nick and I last night after you’d performed and congratulated us. Like it was something we’d done!”

Kurt frowned a little at this news. “I’m sure you get compliments every Saturday night when Blaine plays, Jeff,” he disputed.

Nick nodded in agreement as his boyfriend hurried to explain.

“Yes, yes of course we do and people come on those nights simply to hear Blaine play and sing but last night, the two of you were truly magical. Your voices blend so well together. You gave them something extra special and well, me and Nicky – we just want to say thank you.”

Blaine smiled at his friends. “That’s very kind, guys and much appreciated.” In the silence of the next moment Blaine’s stomach rumbled indignantly in hunger and when everyone had stopped laughing, he added, “…and apparently much needed too.”

“Yeah, well we know you’ve got lots on your mind with Haydn in the hospital – we just wanted to take your minds off it for a few hours,” Nick explained kindly.

“Right, so … here’s the deal-e-o – We’re leaving in half an hour!” Jeff announced, picking up the tray and walking towards the door, where he stopped and called back over his shoulder. “Sorry, no time for early morning shenanigans, then!” and, as he sauntered out the room, Nick closed the door behind him remonstrating quietly with his grinning boyfriend about ‘sensitive topics’.

Kurt was staring open-mouthed at Blaine. “I’m beginning to realise with Jeff that he does mean exactly what he says.”

Blaine nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. “Yep, we’ll be out of here in half an hour.” His face fell when he took in Kurt’s shocked expression. “Hey Beautiful, what’s wrong?” Reaching out to stroke Kurt’s arm up and down, he asked, his voice teasing, “You disappointed there’s no time for ‘early morning shenanigans’?”

Kurt blushed and pushed at Blaine’s arm with his other hand. “It’s too late in the day for anything remotely ‘early morning’. No, I just … Blaine, I’ve never gotten ready in half an hour in my life before!”

Blaine burst out laughing. “Oh Kurt, that’s adorable. I think you’re adorable!” He leaned forward and kissed the frown that had creased Kurt’s forehead; then, cupping his hand gently around Kurt’s cheek and left ear, he dragged his lips down to find Kurt’s lips greedily waiting for his. For a few moments, they lost themselves in the intoxicating sensation of each other’s mouth – now tasting deliciously of coffee, until Kurt released Blaine’s mouth suddenly and jerked away, gasping.

“And now I have even less time!” he squealed.

Blaine laughed and rose off the bed. “Okay, look, you take this bathroom and I’ll go bug them for theirs. They looked already showered and dressed this morning. You take your time here and come out when you’re ready. Okay?’

Kurt smiled as Blaine headed to the door. “Thanks, Blaine.”

***************************************************************************************************************************

As Kurt and Blaine walked across the pristine clean hospital floor, their shoes squeaking against the tiled linoleum, they noticed Randy sitting on his own outside the ICU unit. The boy was dressed in grey sweat pants and a McKinley High athletic sweater. His warm outer jacket was lying carelessly on the plastic chair beside him and he was engrossed in whatever he was reading on his phone. He looked up, startled when Blaine called out to garner his attention but his face broke into a relieved smile when he saw who was approaching him and he stood up.

“Coach! Mr Hummel! Hi, it’s good to see you both.”

Blaine put his arm around his player and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Randy, how’re you doing?” he asked with concern.

Kurt thought the boy looked exhausted with dark rings under his eyes and pale cheeks but the teen nodded enthusiastically, “I’m fine, Coach. Really, just great.”

“And how’s Haydn?” Kurt asked gently. Randy shrugged his shoulders and gestured vaguely towards the closed door of the ICU.

“They threw us out a few minutes ago to give him a bath and like prepare him for the night but it’s only like - ” He glanced down at his watch in protest “ - 5.30! His mom and Lucy went down to the cafeteria ‘cause Lucy was hungry but I wanted to stay here. The nurse said I could go back in when they’re done.”

“Is there any further news on his condition?” asked Blaine, despite knowing that if there had been Jenny would have been true to her word and rung him immediately. The teenage boy before him shook his head forlornly.

“No, they’re not saying much apart from the fact that when the swelling has gone down we’ll know more about the extent of the paralysis. But I’ve been keeping him in good spirits the whole weekend.”

“Have you been here the whole time?” Kurt asked.

“Yes! Jenny let me sleep over at their house on Friday, well Saturday really, because we only left here around 4am,” the boy replied.

“Randy – please tell me you did, at least, let your dad know what was going on?” Blaine asked but tears sprang immediately to the boys eyes. He nodded and wiped them away with the back of his hand as he replied to his coach.

“I did. I sent them a text to let them know about Haydn’s paralysis and that I’d be at the hospital.”

“And they didn’t mind?” Kurt interjected, somewhat surprised.

“Did they come here at all?” Blaine wanted to know and Randy shook his head sadly.

“No,” he replied softly, the tears falling freely down his cheeks. “In fact, I got this message back from them.” He flicked quickly through the messages on his phone, stopping at one in particular which he held up for Blaine and Kurt to read.

_**[Dad] Don’t bother returning. I will not have a fag son.** _

Kurt gasped at the dreadfully hurtful message and Blaine reached out again to pull the boy into his arms. “I’m sure he didn’t mean that, Randy. He’s just processing what happened on Friday night. You need to give him some time.”

“I know that,” agreed Randy. “Although, I did think my mom might message me. She was always fond of Haydn, you know? I thought she’d care about how he’s doing. But she’s gone radio silent. She hasn’t returned one of my messages.”

“Oh, Randy,” Kurt reached out to rub the boy’s arm in comfort.

The boy laughed bitterly, “…and my FaceBook’s blown up as well,” he said.

“What do you mean?” asked Blaine.

“Well, there were plenty of rather hateful messages from people who couldn’t believe that I announced Haydn as my boyfriend on Friday night when I hadn’t even come ‘out’ as gay. Some really unkind comments,” he explained to his two teachers.

“Randy, I’m so sorry - ” began Blaine but the boy interrupted him.

“No, Coach, there’s no need to be, because, you know what? For every awful, spiteful message there were at least two or three really positive, supportive comments. But I really can’t be bothered with anyone right now – anyhow. They can all go stuff themselves. My focus has to be on Haydn and keeping his spirits up.”

Just then, a rosy-faced staff sister opened the door and poked her head through. In concern, she took in the picture of the young lad in the arms of an older gentleman.

“Randy?” she called out. “We’re finished. You can come back in now.”

Randy turned out of Blaine’s embrace and wiping his eyes again, he asked, “Nurse Nancy, could you let his teachers go in? This is our football coach, and this is the school’s choir director,” he introduced the two men to the nursing sister who looked the two men up and down.

“Football and music, huh?” she laughed. “Who would’ve thought? Yeah, yeah, you can come on in but probably only for ten minutes, okay?”

Verbally, both Blaine and Kurt expressed their gratitude and, leaving Randy in the hallway, they stepped into the ICU cubicle where Haydn lay.

 

 

 


	18. Hash Marks

  **Hash marks**

_**Before every play, the ball is spotted between the hash marks – lines drawn on the centre of the field.** _

 

“… because I know you don’t like hospitals at all, Kurt, but I’m really pleased you went with Blaine to see him.”

Although he knew Mercedes could not see his reaction to her comment, Kurt smiled because Blaine had said the exact same thing the night before when he’d driven Kurt home after their visit to the injured football player.

“I’m glad I could be there for him ‘Cedes. He’s trying to be very brave but I just know the sight of young Haydn lying there in that hospital bed brought back some very unpleasant memories of his own injury,” Kurt responded.

Mercedes gasped as a sudden thought struck her. “Boo – Imagine, if Blaine hadn’t been injured, he wouldn’t have become the coach at McKinley and then you wouldn’t have met him and then …”

“Mercedes Jones!” reprimanded Kurt, “Have you been listening in on my conversations with Blaine?” he asked with a tease in his voice. “That’s exactly what I told him last night!” Kurt giggled mischievously. “Well, in between some serious kissing!”

“That’s my boy!” cried Mercedes joyously and Kurt could swear he could hear her clapping her hands in the background.

He was serious for a moment. “ ‘Cedes, we spoke about this – hands on the wheel at all times when you are driving, please.”

“Oh, but Kurt, I’m not driving. I’m on my way to a meeting with some execs from _Blue Flash_ _Entertainment_ and …. get this …. they sent a limo to collect little old _moi_!”

It was Kurt’s turn to gasp. “Oh, well excuse me – that sounds very … flash!” Giggling now at his own lame joke, he continued, wanting more information. “What’s this for ‘Cedes? What are you planning?”

“I can’t tell you too much, Boo, but it may or may not involve me and the summer and …. Madison Square Garden!” The last few words were almost drowned out by Kurt’s astonished and delighted squeal.

“No way? You gonna play the Garden? Oh, ‘Cedes, oh my friend…” He wanted to say more – so much more but he was overcome with a rush of emotion.

“Now, you absolutely _cannot_ say anything to anyone, you hear? Especially not to Ms FlapperMouth Berry – but I promise, Boo, the minute the ink is dry on the contracts, you’ll be the first to know. Love you Boo, to the moon and back! Gotta go!”

“Love you too, ‘Cedes – take care. Knock ‘em dead!”

Kurt removed the phone from his ear and his thumb slid across the phone effectively ending the call to his best friend.

“Mercedes Jones in concert at Madison Square Garden!” Kurt tried out the magical words on his lips. He coughed once and announced again, this time, in a proper stage voice, “Mercedes Jones plays the Garden!”

 _Mercedes Jones Live in New York_.

He sighed as his thoughts turned to his favourite city in the summer time. _Strange how you actually do miss the heartbeat of a city when you’re away from it_ , he thought. The crush of people spilling out of the theatres in the district near Times Square, the hooting of car horns and the endless police- and fire- sirens, the smells – fragrant and otherwise, oh and the bustle, the noise – the soul.

 _Wow! I didn’t realise I missed it so much until she mentioned it,_ he thought _. I wonder if I_ _could pop back for a short visit_? _Perhaps a weekend or so after Christmas? Maybe I’ll even ask Blaine. We could stay at the loft ‘cause Rachel will be on that annual cruise with her dads. We could see a show, maybe find a club to dance at, we could stroll through Central Park in the early evening and …_

“Mr Hummel?”

A tentative voice disturbed Kurt’s daydreaming thoughts and his head jerked up towards the open door of his office where Randy stood, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another while both his hands gripped the messenger bag he had slung over one shoulder.

“Randy? Hey! How are you? Come on in! Sit!” greeted Kurt. _Wow, the lad looks tired,_ he thought to himself.

He stood up and ushered the young boy inside his office, gesturing for him to take a seat while Kurt sat down opposite him.

“Mr H, I’m here because Haydn asked me to take his spot on the Glee Club. He explained to me that without him you don’t have enough members for the competition.”

“Haydn asked you to join?” Kurt didn’t mask his surprise.

“Yeah – well you know he asked me to join with him when he and the other boys did at the beginning of the year but I was too worried about my parents’ reaction so I said no and I missed out on the musical and missed out on so much so now I kinda want to make it up and do this for you – for Haydn and, well, for me too, actually,” Randy tripped and stumbled over his explanation, not pausing once to take a breath.

“I can’t see that being a problem,” replied Kurt kindly. “Although, in all fairness, I’ll have to ask you to audition like the others but from what Haydn has told me about your voice I’m sure you’ll be a great asset. What do you say? Could you have something prepared for tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yeah – yeah, absolutely. I’ll get Haydn to help me this afternoon,” the boy was enormously relived and it showed on his face and as he relaxed more in the chair.

“Are you going back to the hospital this afternoon?” Kurt asked and the teen in front of him nodded emphatically.

“Yeah, I wanted to go there this morning but his mom said she’d ban me from his hospital room if I didn’t come to school this morning.”

“And … um … have you had any news from your parents?” Kurt probed gently remembering the conversation they’d had the night before outside Haydn’s hospital room.

“No, except they sent my dad’s office driver over late last night with my stuff,” Randy replied without looking at his teacher.

“Really? They just packed up all your stuff and sent it over to Haydn’s house? Just like that?” Kurt was outraged on the boy’s behalf.

Randy nodded sadly. “It is what it is, Mr H. Haydn and I chatted about it a lot – well I spoke and he listened and I think that my initial fear to come ‘out’ with Haydn was that _this_ is exactly how they would react and I didn’t think that I would be able to deal with their hate. But, you know what? Turns out I’m stronger than I thought I was.” By now the young boy had his head up and was looking at Kurt with determined, steely eyes.

“You are, Randy,” agreed Kurt immediately. “You are incredibly strong and very, very courageous and loyal and …”

Randy laughed as he interrupted the choir teacher. “Mr H, no – don’t get too carried away. I let my fears destroy something you and Haydn and the others worked very hard for – I’m really not all those things you say I am.”

“Rubbish!” disagreed Kurt but without any heat in the argument. “You are and, Randy, what’s done is done. You’ve apologised and as far as I’m concerned it’s over – done and dusted and never to be discussed again. I just want you to know that I’m here for you if ever or whenever, you need me.”

“Thank you, Mr H – Coach Anderson said the same thing to me. In fact, he gave me the _Trevor Project_ helpline number as well. Said it had worked miracles in his own life and that I should ring them if ever I felt I couldn’t be strong.”

Kurt was nodding. “They are awesome – he’s quite right.”

The ringing of the school bell interrupted their conversation and Randy stood up – considerably more relaxed than when he entered the office.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Mr H! Prepare to be blown away,” he warned, turned and left Kurt’s office using the door leading into the school corridor.

From the interior door – the one leading into the choir room - Kurt heard a deep voice remark, “And here I thought I would be the only one blowing you away tomorrow.”

Kurt’s head whipped around, the blush already furiously making its way towards his cheeks as he took in Blaine’s casually seductive pose in the doorway. His head bent low and eyes dipped in suggestion, Blaine was unashamedly ready for a steamy make-out session.

“Do not take one step into this office,” cautioned Kurt with his index finger raised up in warning.

His mouth immediately dropping in disappointment, Blaine pouted, “And, why not?”

“Because if you do – we will be both be fired for what will happen,” Kurt tried to explain rationally.

Blaine laughed delightedly and clapped his hands. As he strode into the room, Kurt backed away from him and went to stand on the opposite side of his desk.

“I’d say, ‘ _Please do tell_ ,’ but we both know that would be very dangerous,” smirked Blaine and, in the face of Kurt’s fierce glare, he raised his hands in surrender.

“I give up,” he laughed and brought his right hand up to his face, waving it magically in front of him, changing his expression to one of complete seriousness. “See? This is my totally professional face. I can do this,” he claimed and sat down comfortably in one of Kurt’s office chairs.

Kurt laughed – somewhat relieved and sat down behind the desk. “You are such a dork!” he chastised lightly and then continued. “Randy was in here to ask if he could take Haydn’s place in the Glee Club so I’ll have enough members to compete.”

“Oh? That is excellent news,” agreed Blaine. “I’m glad. Wow! He’s come a long way hasn’t he?”

Kurt agreed, nodding his head thoughtfully, “Yeah, he has.”

“And, it’s all thanks to you, you know,” continued Blaine but the man sitting opposite him, _his boyfriend_ , shook his head.

“No, I wouldn’t say that, Blaine.”

But, Blaine was adamant as he nodded his head. “Yes, Kurt, it’s entirely true. If you hadn’t forgiven him and allowed him to play in that crucial football game, I don’t think _this_ would have been the outcome at all. Haydn would be lying in that hospital bed without the care and support of the boy who loves him. What you did Kurt – how you overcame your own fears and demons to make his life better took such strength and courage. I .. I am in … in awe of you.”

_Too soon, you idiot – it’s too soon to tell him you love him. Rein it in, Anderson!_

Kurt’s eyes began to water. “You’ve got to stop now, Blaine or I may throw this desk to the side, land in your lap and to hell with the consequences,” he warned lightly.

Blaine chuckled, pleased with the outcome of his praise. “I’m not sorry ‘cause it’s the truth. You are the bravest man I know.”

“No, it’s actually _you_ , Blaine,” countered Kurt. “You are the brave one – _you_ taught me to be brave. You picked up the broken pieces of your life and ambitions to make something beautiful with it – something which benefits so many lives.”

Blaine smiled at his boyfriend, his eyes watering too. “You and me, Kurt – that’s it – our scars tell a story – they tell of a time we were once beaten but never defeated.”

***********************************************************************************************************************

The next two weeks pass by in a blur of activity for Kurt as he and his Glee Club prepare for their Sectionals competition. Randy’s audition is breath-taking because he sings John Legend’s beautiful classic, _All of me,_ which Wolf kindly records for him to take to Haydn later that evening. The Glee kids are completely unaware that it was Randy who sabotaged their musical and embrace him wholeheartedly into their fold as Kurt suspected they would.

Blaine arranges for the school counsellor to reach out to Randy’s parents about his accommodation arrangements but the woman is told by Randy’s father to mind her own business and if she’s so “ _worried about where the boy sleeps at night_ ” then she should “ _take the fag in herself_.” When she reports this message back to him, Blaine spends an hour attempting to murder the punching bag in the weight room before Kurt rescues him (and the bag!) and takes Blaine for coffee at the _Lima Bean_.

They spend as much time as they can with Haydn and a week after the game everyone is thrilled to hear that the swelling on his spine is reducing and that, with several months of physical therapy, the long-term prognosis looks good. Kurt seeks Blaine’s eyes when Mr Williams makes the announcement in Assembly early that morning. The high school students erupt with delight, stamping their feet and clapping their hands in sheer joy and relief over the news. Haydn is a well-loved member of the football team and is clearly adored by the whole school. At the sight of Blaine’s obvious tears, Kurt’s heart swells with love.

_Wait, what? Love? It’s a bit early, isn’t it?_

Kurt’s brain remonstrates with his heart but the damn thing wants nothing to do with his reticence.

 _Love, Kurt, that’s what you feel for him_. _Admit it,_ his heart urges.

_It’s far too early to be making that sort of declaration. We’ve only really been dating two weeks._

Amidst the noise in the auditorium, Blaine finds Kurt’s eyes on his and smiles at his boyfriend. Kurt melts a little at the sight.

 _Yeah, okay,_ he concedes happily. _I love him_.

*******************************************************************************************************************

After a final Glee practice in the auditorium the day before the competition, which now is to be hosted by McKinley High School due to a burst water pipe rendering the original host school’s venue unavailable, Blaine took Kurt to the _Lima Bean_ for a much-needed coffee.

As they walked in, Blaine directed Kurt to find them a table and sit down while he braved the queue to place their coffee order. Kurt was very grateful for the suggestion because he was exhausted and wanted desperately to get off his feet. He slid into an empty booth with his back to the counter where Blaine patiently waited his turn. Closing his eyes, Kurt mentally ticked off all the things needing to be checked and completed before the competition the following day so he was unaware that someone had slipped into the seat opposite him until Sebastian’s voice caused him to startle.

“You’re wasting your time, surely you realise that.”

Not knowing what the man was on about but certainly not forgetting the insult he had thrown Kurt’s way on the previous occasion they had the misfortune to meet, Kurt replied instantly, his tone sharp.

“But it’s my time to waste, isn’t it?”

“He’s too good for you,” Sebastian attacked, getting straight to the point.

_Oh, a Blaine-inspired verbal sparring match? Okay, then very well._

“I see,” Kurt nodded slowly in apparent understanding, deliberately keeping his temper in check. “But, I assume he’s just perfect for you, is that it?” he retorted.

“Of course!” sneered Sebastian, “Blaine and I have a history; there’s chemistry between us that you’ll never match, you know. They say you never forget your first and Blaine will never forget me and what we have given to each other and shared.”

Kurt could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as this pathetic excuse for a human in front of him continued to speak, loading insult upon insult.

“Blaine prefers his men more ‘manly’, if you know what I mean.”

Kurt couldn’t believe the weasel was wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“He’s got a type,” Sebastian continued, “and you, my dear, are not it. The thing is, Blaine and I are meant to be and you are really just embarrassing yourself, making it very difficult for Blaine to …”

“Beautiful?”

Blaine’s strong, rich voice interrupted the trash spewing from Sebastian’s mouth. Both men seated in the booth looked up and Kurt was thrilled to see those honey-hazel eyes bore into his – only his.

“I got the coffee to go because this place looked a little crowded and I’d much rather be alone with you at your house. Is that okay?” Blaine continued, completely ignoring Sebastian who was gaping like a fish in a most comical way.

Kurt swallowed, “That’s … um … that’s fine, Blaine. Okay, then let’s go.”

Gracefully, Kurt slid out of the booth and graciously accepted his coffee from Blaine who immediately clasped Kurt’s free hand in his and began to lead them out of the crowded coffee shop. But Kurt stopped and turned around, speaking softly but very clearly to Sebastian.

“Sorry to leave you mid-sentence, Sebastian, but as you can see my boyfriend and I have plans.”

Blaine hadn’t even bothered to turn around but he and Kurt laughed all the way back to the Hummel house where in the privacy of the quiet kitchen Blaine reasserted his rights as boyfriend on Kurt’s mouth _and_ jawline _and_ neck just below his ear.

***********************************************************************************************************

“That’s right, Ms Jones. That’s what I said, we freaking took first place!!” Kurt yelled down the phone completely thrilled with his Glee club’s victory that afternoon.

From his position on his bed, Burt looked up at his son and smiled. Downstairs, Kurt’s boyfriend was making supper for them but Kurt had announced that he simply had to let Mercedes know the result of the competition, hence the conversation taking place at that moment in Burt’s bedroom. He listened to his son babble on a bit more about how awesome his students had been and about how proud he was of them. Then, Kurt became quiet for a while as he listened to his friend and eventually Burt heard him say, softly, “I’m so proud of you ‘Cedes. All your dreams are coming true.”

Not for the first time since his discharge from hospital, Burt caught himself regretting the fact that his son was back in Lima. All Kurt’s dreams were caught up on the Great White Way and Burt’s feeble health had put a stop to that. Burt felt the regret like a physical pain which tugged and ripped at his damaged and failing heart. He’d tried – many times – to persuade Kurt to return to New York but his son was stubborn. That particular trait he had indeed inherited from Burt.

And now Blaine was on the scene. Ensconced here in Lima of all places, the football coach wasn’t going anywhere although Blaine had shared with Burt that many different districts had asked agents to contact him to offer him lucrative positions at their schools in order to boost their respective football teams. But, Burt understood that Blaine wasn’t going anywhere because Kurt wasn’t going anywhere as long as Burt was here, lying in this bed.

He looked up to find that Kurt had finished his conversation with Mercedes and was now playing with the phone in his hand - a sure sign that he wanted to talk seriously to his father but didn’t know how to broach the subject.

“Just spit it out, kiddo,” he encouraged with an earnest expression on his face.

Kurt smiled at how well his dad knew him, understood him and loved him. In the wake of Randy’s family troubles, Kurt realised, once again, that he was blessed beyond belief to have _this_ man for a father, which made this particular request all the more difficult.

“Mercedes will be playing at Madison Square Garden next summer.”

“Oh wow! Mercedes is heading back to New York?” Burt responded.

“Yeah, well, just for the concert - not for good or anything. This is … this is a big deal, dad,” Kurt explained.

“And, I get that, I totally do,” Burt nodded in understanding but then he cocked his head to the side, looking at his son intently. “Kurt, when will you head back?”

“Dad, you know that’s not up for discussion,” Kurt retorted quickly but then he breathed in deeply before continuing breathlessly. “Except maybe ….”

********************************************************************************************************

Blaine looked up from where he stood in front of the stove, stirring the pot, the contents of which were bubbling away merrily and smiled brightly.

“Hey, Beautiful, are you and Mercedes done on the phone? Because this is just about ready to serve.”

Kurt stood for just a moment admiring the view of Blaine wearing one of Kurt’s many aprons over his tight black jeans and sweater. He walked over to his boyfriend, wrapped his arms around his waist and gently kissed the exposed skin on his neck. Shivering with pleasure, Blaine immediately leaned back into the touch and sighed happily.

“Mmmm, or we could just switch off the stove and forget about eating …” he offered and Kurt giggled.

“No way – it smells too delicious to leave but I did want to ask you something if you wouldn’t mind turning down the stove so we don’t burn anything.”

Intrigued, Blaine did just as Kurt had asked and then turned around to face Kurt who pulled him quickly into his arms.

“Blaine, I’ve chatted to my dad and he’s totally on board with this idea so I wanted to ask you. I know you’ll be going away to your parents for Christmas and I won’t see you for the holiday but is there any way you could meet me in New York for New Year?”

 

 

 


	19. Extra Point

**Extra Point**

_**A kick that’s typically attempted after every touchdown must sail between the uprights** _

_**and above the crossbar of the goalpost to be considered good.** _

 

With considerable difficulty, Kurt and Blaine manoeuvred their luggage down the narrow passage which led to the loft Kurt had shared with Rachel until just a few months ago. Although Jesse had moved in with her soon after Kurt’s departure, earlier that day, Blaine had learned that, with Rachel away from the city, Jesse had gone to visit friends in California. He and Kurt had the loft all to themselves for the next few nights.

Blaine was most grateful for this fact because, despite being in this adult relationship, much to their mutual frustration, the two men had found surprisingly little time to be alone with each other. They were either at Kurt’s house where Carole and Burt pottered around or they sneaked away to Blaine’s apartment where it appeared Santana’s ‘Mexican third eye’ was a real thing which seemed to activate an alarm the second Blaine had Kurt’s shirt buttons undone. She would seek them out and shamelessly, interrupt them. Even when visiting at Nick and Jeff, the two were hardly ever granted any time to be alone.

That afternoon, when their respective planes had touched down and they had found each other in the overcrowded busy arrivals hall of the domestic terminal of JFK airport, Blaine had wrapped his arms tightly around Kurt’s waist and back and jokingly whispered in his boyfriend’s ear, “Alone, at last!”

Now, though, as they hauled their bags over the threshold, Blaine was acutely aware of entering Kurt’s personal, private space for the first time in their relationship. This was the domain of ‘ _New York_ _Kurt_ ’ – the successful Broadway actor and star Blaine hadn’t met and, needless to say, he was slightly apprehensive.

Kurt came to a halt just inside the vast open room and looked about, satisfying himself that nothing had actually changed in his absence. Despite not being able to tell Rachel exactly when or, even, if he’d be back, he had always been uneasy that she would make changes that would make him feel left behind. His tension showed and he breathed in deeply.

“You okay?’ asked Blaine in alarm, fearing the onset of a panic attack. Despite their demonstrative reunion at the airport, Kurt had become very quiet on the journey into the city and Blaine had not wanted to intrude on his introspection.

“Yeah,” sighed Kurt, “Yeah, I’m okay. Just adjusting to my New York feet, I guess.” He turned around to face Blaine and gestured with his arm to the open area before them, he said “Welcome to my home, Blaine.”

Satisfied that his boyfriend truly was okay, Blaine looked away from Kurt and studied the loft that had been Kurt and Rachel’s home since they graduated and moved away from Lima.

Smiling broadly, he complimented Kurt. “It’s awesome, Kurt. I love it. You and Rachel must have made some wonderful memories here over the years.”

Nodding in agreement and with a wistful smile on his face, Kurt replied, “Yeah, we actually did. It got quite crowded at one time when Sam moved in a few months after Santana did and, for a while, Britney was also living with us. Even Mercedes spent a night or two here. The loft is kinda like a rock in the New York ocean and while others swept in and out erratically with the tide, Rachel and I were the barnacles that clung on.”

He stepped forward, making his way across the floor and, sweeping back the heavy blackout curtain, he gave Blaine his first glimpse of Kurt’s own bedroom. The bed was neatly made and covered casually with a charcoal-coloured comforter and on the make-shift bedside table Blaine could see a photograph of Kurt and Finn goofing around in their school graduation gowns. He smiled gently.

“Nothing different here,” noted Kurt, the relief evident in his voice, “although Rachel did tell me she put fresh linen on the bed.”

Blaine placed their bags on the floor beside the double bed and took hold of Kurt’s hand, pulling the man closer to him in a comforting hug. Blaine wasn’t sure if he thought it was Kurt who needed solace or whether _he_ just needed to reassure himself of Kurt’s affections in this vibrant, yet unfamiliar, city.

“It’s truly awesome, Kurt,” Blaine remarked in admiration as he surveyed the entire layout of the loft from where he stood in Kurt’s bedroom. “I can understand why you and Rachel never moved.”

Kurt chuckled. “Oh, we thought about it – trust me - plenty of times. Travelling back from the theatre late at night on the subway is no joke – especially in winter but we just never found the time to really do anything about it. One of us was always working and couldn’t fit apartment-hunting in around whatever shift at the diner the other was working. So, most times, we just gave up and grumbled on the subway home. When we were both in shows, it was great because then we’d meet up in the city and travel home together.”

Kurt squeezed his boyfriend tightly and then disengaged himself from Blaine’s arms, pecking him lightly on the cheek to remedy the pouting lip that dropped the minute Kurt moved out of Blaine’s embrace.

“Okay, so where are my manners? You must be exhausted! Do you want to shower while I unpack our things?” Blaine nodded enthusiastically at the suggestion as Kurt continued with plans. “I thought perhaps tonight we could eat locally? The best pizza in New York is actually just down the road at _Roberta’s_.”

“That would be awesome, thanks.” Blaine gestured to a door leading from the kitchen, “I assume that’s the bathroom through there,” he queried.

“It is, yes. There should be spare towels on the rack beside the shower - just help yourself and give the warm water a couple of minutes to heat up – it always takes a while,” he instructed.

 

An hour later, bundled up in warm jackets, scarves and gloves, the two men arrived at the popular eatery three blocks from the loft. As they ate their fill of delicious pizza from the advertised genuine word fire oven, they filled each other in on their respective Christmas Day celebrations.

“..ever …gain, …ough, ..urt,” mumbled Blaine, his tongue trying desperately to catch the stringy cheese stretching out between his mouth and the pizza slice.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Kurt giggled at his boyfriend’s antics.

Blaine pulled the cheese away with his other hand and reached for a napkin which he used to wipe his mouth before he tried again. “Never again will I spend Christmas Day away from you,” he repeated solemnly.

“Never, huh?”

“Nope, never,” Blaine affirmed and then, reaching for Kurt’s hand across the table, he stated simply, “I love you, Kurt Hummel and I don’t want any of my days to pass by without you in it.”

“Oh, Blaine,” gasped Kurt his eyes wide with delight. “I love you, too.”

The two men grinned blissfully at each other, oblivious to the noise of the busy restaurant until Kurt broke their private little bubble. “Can you hurry up and finish that slice already? I want to get back home so we can exchange Christmas presents.”

Hurriedly, Blaine gobbled down the rest of the pizza, paid the bill and, outside in the cold night, he tucked Kurt’s gloved hand up into the crook of his elbow where he held on tight with his other hand. Kurt smiled lovingly at the affectionate gesture.

Back in the warmth of the loft, they sat cross-legged on the sofa, facing each other with knees touching, as Kurt handed Blaine a thin rectangular box and received, from Blaine, a square one in return.

“How should we do this?” he asked.

“Why don’t you open mine first,” Blaine suggested, “and then, I’ll open yours. That way we’ll be able to concentrate on each other.”

“Clever man,” Kurt complimented as he leaned forward and kissed Blaine’s cheek before carefully pulling at the tape which sealed the cute and festive red wrapping paper decorated with little green Christmas trees. Once he managed to free a small section of tape, he pulled it away from the paper without causing unnecessary damage to the tiny Christmas trees.

“Oh my word, Kurt – just rip it already!” Blaine huffed impatiently.

Gingerly, Kurt lifted the lid of the red box to find a CD box lying nestled in the tissue paper. The picture on the cover was of a sleek black grand piano and the title of the CD, hand-printed in beautiful calligraphy read: ‘ _ **From My Heart to Yours’**_. Intrigued, Kurt opened the box and found the following inscription on the CD:

_**Kurt, my one true love: these songs are to remind you, today and throughout the year, how much I love you. Merry Christmas, Blaine** _

“These songs?” Kurt’s voice was hushed with emotion. “They’re yours? “

Blaine blushed and nodded. “Three of them are my own, yeah; some of them are covers I’ve done and the rest are songs you’ve mentioned before that you love, but, well, it’s me singing and playing all of them.”

Kurt was touched by the thoughtful and personal gift. Softly, he asked, “How did you - ”

“Nick’s got a contact through one of the boys at Dalton. The father agreed to allow Nick and I some studio time. So we recorded the songs that weekend early in December when you were with your dad and couldn’t get away.”

“Oh my – Blaine, this is beautiful. Thank you so much. But, now I feel that my gift isn’t going to come anywhere near yours on the ‘awesomeness scale’ but if you open it, I’ll try to explain.”

There was none of Kurt’s unwrapping finesse as Blaine eagerly ripped open the gold paper and upon finding a thin but hard envelope inside, he eagerly opened that too. Lifting up the flap curiously, he was able to slide out two theatre tickets.

“Kurt,” he murmured in astonishment, “these are …”

“… for tomorrow night’s show – yeah,” Kurt finished for him.

Blaine looked at his boyfriend with wide eyes. “But, on New Year’s Eve? How were you even able to – What am I saying? _You’re_ Kurt Hummel!” he laughed merrily.

Kurt giggled with him – pleased that his present, too, was a success. “I may still have a few friends in the show who owe me a favour or five. But, Blaine, I want _you_ to see it because you’ve often mentioned that you would love to see the show and also, it’s the one that launched my own Broadway career.”

Blaine grinned and tapped Kurt’s nose with his index finger. “That’s right! _You_ were a flying monkey!” he remembered.

Kurt nodded, blushing now. “And it was through the show that I met Cameron. When he and I started to share our ideas for a new kind of show on Broadway, he began to write _My Turn_. It took years before we were even remotely ready for opening night but I always felt that _Wicked_ is where it all began for me and I … I guess …” His explanation tapered off now and Blaine recognised that his boyfriend was self-conscious.

“You guess what, Beautiful?” he probed gently taking hold of Kurt’s hand in his.

Kurt looked into the eyes of the man he loved more than anything. “I wanted to share that part of me with you.”

Blaine’s eyes misted over in gratitude. “That’s beautiful, Kurt. Thank you. I love you so much.”

Suddenly the scraps of wrapping paper were swept aside, the two gifts making it safely to the coffee table before Kurt launched himself at Blaine, pushing him down onto the sofa and latching onto his boyfriend’s lips in a passionate kiss.

Blaine groaned deeply into the kiss and, against Kurt’s lips, he mumbled, “Wanted this for so long.”

“Mmmm…” agreed Kurt, his lips struggling to form words. He pulled away from Blaine’s kiss and looked at his boyfriend heatedly, panting slightly. Blaine’s eyes had darkened and Kurt recognised the arousal behind the smouldering look because he was sure Blaine’s eyes simply mirrored his own in that moment.

“Blaine – want to share so much of me with you. Want to share everything,” he said huskily.

Again, Blaine groaned and fastened his lips to Kurt’s, bringing the man currently straddling his thighs even closer until they both could feel the heat of their desire through their clothing.

***************************************************************************************************************

Kurt wasn’t sure what woke him. Perhaps it was the rumbling din of the garbage van as it passed by beneath the window, perhaps it was the faraway siren loudly broadcasting its imminent arrival at whichever disaster scene it was required or perhaps it was the unfamiliar heavy weight on his chest and stomach. Lying on his back, Kurt’s eyes flicked down to find a curly head resting on his chest. Blaine had curled completely into him during the night, his right hand wrapped tightly around Kurt’s waist and his right leg snugly fitting between Kurt’s thighs.

 _Ah, right; that would be what woke me_ , he realised with a small grin forming on his lips. _Guess it’s_ _time to take care of urgent and pressing early morning business._

Carefully extricating himself from the clutches of the sleeping coach, Kurt padded quietly across the loft to the bathroom where he showered for a little longer than normal. The memories of their night together still fresh in his mind.

_“We should stop,” Blaine whispered eventually, stilling his hips and holding Kurt away from his chest for just a moment._

_“What? No! Why?” Kurt complained, pushing back insistently at Blaine’s hands and hips._

_Blaine groaned, succumbing to the pleasure of Kurt’s eager body on his, before trying again. “Because, Beautiful … because … we need to talk about this … before we ... you know.”_

_“Talk? You want to talk? Argh, really?” Kurt’s frustration was very obvious in his tone and Blaine hastened to placate him._

_“Kurt, I need you to be comfortable,” he whispered as he brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen over Kurt’s face, hiding those exquisite eyes. “So I can be comfortable. I never want to do anything to upset you or to make you feel panicky, Beautiful,” he explained as best he could but Kurt huffed anyway._

_“Blaine – I promise you, I am more than comfortable right now and I’m not panicking in the slightest. I know that this is you and me, here right now, nobody else, no haunting memories. It’s where I want to be. I want to be with you,” he assured his boyfriend._

_But then, just as suddenly, he pulled away from Blaine, concern written all over his face. “Don’t you want me?”_

_“Argh!” Blaine cried out as if in pain. “Are you insane? You beautiful, beautiful man. Kurt, I want you so badly; you have no idea how much I want you but I need you to be sure. I need for you to be very sure that this is what you want.”_

_Kurt reached down and pressed a kiss on Blaine’s lips and then leaned his mouth against Blaine’s ear._

_“I am very, very sure that I want you, Blaine,” he whispered seductively._

_“Kurrrrt -” growled Blaine in agonised ecstasy and in one movement, he had lifted Kurt off him and turned them around on the couch where he proceeded to attack Kurt’s neck with passionate kisses and licks as he sucked, nipped and teased one particular spot after another._

_“Here?” he asked quietly._

_“No – Let’s go to the bedroom,” Kurt suggested._

 

Fresh from the shower, dressed and feeling far more comfortably relaxed than when he’d woken up, Kurt opened the bathroom door to the sight of Blaine flipping pancakes at the stove and humming quietly to himself. He was wearing loose grey sweat pants and a white t-shirt which pulled tight across his back and upper arms and his feet were tucked into an old pair of Kurt’s slip-ons.

“Morning handsome,” Kurt purred as he wrapped his arms around his lover.

“Hey, Beautiful,” Blaine greeted and then his wide smile turned into a pout. “You left me,” he whined. “You left me all alone in your warm bed. I was all alone, Kurt.”

Kurt laughed and kissed the back of Blaine’s neck causing little goose bumps to appear instantly and Blaine shivered happily. “Hey, I can’t flip pancakes if you do that!”

Kurt immediately backed off, stepping away with his hands in the air in surrender. “Far be it for me to come between a man and his flipping,” he teased. He looked over the neatly laid table and commented, “You’ve got everything all organised, Blaine. I am impressed. Can I do anything to help?”

“Yeah – um … will you pour us something to drink? I found freshly squeezed orange juice in the fridge or would you prefer coffee?”

“Ugh no -” replied Kurt quickly. “We’ll get coffee on our way.”

“On our way?” echoed Blaine. “What are our plans for the day?” He turned away from the stove to face Kurt, a hungry look on his face. “Please tell me they involve you and me and that awesome mattress of yours?”

Kurt grinned and stopped pouring the juice to look up at Blaine. “You liked that, huh? I splurged on that one because a man must sleep well at night, mustn’t he?”

Blaine nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly that a man should sleep well at night as he walked towards the table with the frying pan in his one hand and expertly delivered the pancakes onto the serving platter. Kurt thanked him with a chaste kiss on his cheek which Blaine expertly redirected to his mouth by turning his head at just the right moment. Kurt enjoyed the sweet sensation of Blaine’s lips on his before pulling away with a smile. He sat down and began to pile pancakes onto his plate.

“Okay, so plans – I thought we could head into the city, shop and maybe stroll around Central Park a bit. Is there something special you’d like to do or see?” he asked but Blaine shook his head.

“No,” he replied. “I’m happy to do whatever you suggest – you’re the boss and I just want to be with you.” Kurt clapped his hands delightedly.

“Why don’t you grab a shower while I clear these dishes? We can grab coffee from the _Starbucks_ near the subway station,” he suggested.

Blaine stood up and was on his way to the bathroom, when he stopped suddenly, turned and spoke softly. “I love you, Beautiful – thank you for inviting me here. To be here with you, in this city that you love so much – it means a lot to me. _You_ mean a lot to me.”

Kurt smiled that beautiful, wide smile of his as he revelled in the sight of his gorgeous boyfriend standing in the kitchen area of his loft in New York.

“I love you too, Blaine – you have my heart, you know that, right?”

*****************************************************************************************************************************

Much later, in the early evening, as Blaine dressed for the theatre in Kurt’s cordoned off area while his boyfriend took a shower, his mind fondly replayed the day’s activities. They had indeed grabbed a much-needed coffee from the _Starbucks_ outside the subway station and, duly fortified, they had ridden the train into the city together.

Blaine had insisted that they walk through Central Park before hitting any of the big-name stores because he was sure Kurt was not going to be able to resist any of the ‘new year’ sales and he wasn’t about to walk through the park heavily laden with parcels and carrier bags. Kurt had merely smiled at his insistence and directed his boyfriend towards the entrance to the park at Columbus Circus.

They had strolled hand in hand down the paths leading eventually to Bethesda Terrace and then wound their way past Strawberry Fields where Blaine insisted they take a picture of their shoes next to the _Imagine_ mosaic, before heading to the warmth of the dining room of the _Tavern on the Green_.

Blaine pulled up the zip of his brand new trousers and grinned at himself in the long mirror in Kurt’s room. Kurt was an excellent shopper - a dedicated bargain hunter and he had persuaded Blaine to buy this tartan pair to wear to the theatre that evening. As he turned around to admire himself fully in the mirror, he looked up to find his boyfriend had stepped out of the bathroom and was dressed already. Blaine’s breath caught in his throat.

“Kurt, ah, Kurt you look …” he sought around in his befuddled brain for an appropriate adjective to describe the stunningly good-looking man standing before him. “… beautiful,” he sighed and Kurt grinned joyfully.

“Thank you and, am I allowed to state that you look absolutely delicious in those pants?” he countered with a cheeky wink.

“Come on, then,” invited Blaine, “Let’s go flaunt my pants in the theatre district, shall we?”

Once more, hand in hand, the two men made their way to the subway, joining the masses heading into the city for assorted New Year celebrations.

“Times Square and the theatre district will be a nightmare tonight,” Kurt warned, “but I know a few shortcuts. Just hold on tight to my hand.”

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand tight. “Not planning to let go, Kurt, ever!”

**************************************************************************************************************************

The show was everything Blaine dreamed it would be. From the stage design to the costumes to the actual performances – he was enthralled and, as they left the theatre, he couldn’t stop thanking Kurt over and over for the remarkable Christmas gift.

Kurt thought Blaine’s babbling about how he wished he could have seen Kurt as a flying monkey was terribly cute but he was quick to remind Blaine that he had moved up from the ranks of flying primate to headlining his own show. Blaine didn’t miss the wistful tone of Kurt’s comment and, not for the first time since they landed, wondered how much this visit was actually hurting Kurt, rather than helping.

“Look, we _could_ join the throngs and head to Times Square to see the ball drop if you wanted or we could pick up a bottle of champagne from the Bodega nearby the loft and celebrate on our own.”

Kurt casually threw the two options at Blaine who was very quick to choose champagne, the loft and alone time with Kurt above the cold weather and Times Square crowds. His boyfriend’s elated smile told Blaine in no uncertain terms that he’d made the wisest choice.

Back in the loft, there wasn’t much time to get the champagne uncorked and poured before midnight struck and the two men were kissing and drinking and toasting and kissing and laughing and kissing some more. Blaine tried to make a toast about the New Year and their relationship but Kurt giggled into his mouth and stole his words away with a wet, champagne-tasting kiss.

“More kissing, less talking, Coach,” Kurt cajoled and Blaine responded by removing both flute glasses from their hands which he placed carefully on the table and then he led Kurt into the bedroom.

“Now,” he proclaimed in a mock-serious voice which had Kurt giggling hysterically again, “at the start of this brand new year, I am going to make love to you.”

“Oh, yeah?” teased Kurt. “Do you think tonight we could maybe get our trousers _off_ before we both orgasm though?”

Blaine growled in his ear, his lips busy at Kurt’s neck. “Yes, definitely,” he agreed. “But, I need you naked now!”

It was absolutely blissful, Blaine decided, to finally be able to trace his fingers, hands and lips over every part of that naked, exquisite and beautiful body. His lips worshipped every part of Kurt, his tongue snaking out every now and then to lick, to taste and to tease. Kurt giggled when Blaine buried his face in Kurt’s armpit, chasing his boyfriend away with a heatless rebuke.

“No Blaine, just no. Definitely not there.”

“Everywhere, Beautiful – I want to feel and taste you everywhere,” Blaine responded, lifting his head and seeking out that sensitive spot on Kurt’s neck again.

Kurt was incredibly responsive and arched into Blaine’s touch as the coach sought new places to tease and to torture, alternating with the rough texture of his tongue and the smooth grain of the pads of his fingers.

“Ah, Blaine, you’re killing me,” Kurt moaned as he writhed beneath Blaine, his hands clutching at Blaine’s back, nails digging into the soft skin.

Soon, a searching tongue gave way to probing fingers and with a gentle, “ _Are you okay_?” and a quiet “ _Is this alright_?” Blaine took possession of Kurt’s body, steadily bringing them both to sweet, panting, heady ecstasy.

“I love you, Blaine,” Kurt sighed as his lover eventually withdrew carefully from his body. Blaine leaned down and kissed Kurt reverently on the lips.

“And I love you, Kurt, my beautiful, beautiful soul mate.”

 

 


	20. Extra Extra Point

**Extra Extra Point**

_**A kick that’s typically attempted after every touchdown must sail between the uprights and above the crossbar of the goalpost to be considered good.** _

 

The harsh sound of an insistent cell phone ring cruelly disturbed the best sleep Blaine had had in years and he groaned unhappily into the soft pillow trying, in vain, to drown out the noise.

“Make it stop, Baby, please? Make it stop.”

With considerable difficulty, Kurt lifted himself off Blaine’s naked chest, leaned over and grabbed the offensive instrument off the bedside table. He fumbled slightly, trying to slide the green icon over to the right of the screen.

“..uh.. ‘ello …um … hello?”

From his prone position in the bed, Blaine could hear an anxious, high pitched voice going off on the other side of the phone but the caller was speaking so rapidly that Blaine couldn’t make out what was being said. He heard Kurt ask in that confused voice derived only from an exceptionally late night and horribly early morning, “I’m sorry, who is this?” Followed, shortly thereafter, by a more coherent, “Oh, Burnard? Oh, hello! I’m sorry; I didn’t recognise your voice at all. Yes, yes well, happy New Year to you too.”

It was all too loud; Blaine frowned and then decided to make use of the opportunity to visit the bathroom. He slid carefully out of the bed, retrieving a pair of underpants from the floor which he hurriedly shrugged on before moving through the loft. As he reached the bathroom door, he heard Kurt gasp breathlessly.

“I’m sorry – you want me to what?”

After a quick invigorating shower, Blaine was feeling a little more human as he wrapped the towel tightly around his waist. He headed back to the warmth of Kurt’s bed where he fully intended to spend the rest of the day exploring more of his boyfriend’s naked body and dreaming up new ways to make the beautiful man moan.

A rapt expression on his face, Kurt was sitting straight up against the headboard twirling the phone in his hand like a drum major’s baton. Blaine sat down on the side of the bed and gently cupped Kurt’s cheek causing the man to look at him, at first a little dazed and then with a clearer expression when Blaine asked softly, “Beautiful? What is it?”

Kurt shook his head in wonderment. “You are _not_ going to believe this, Blaine. I can hardly believe it myself,” he replied.

“Try me,” Blaine countered – both his interest and concern piqued.

“That was Burnard Cohen – the director of _My Turn_ – Get this Blaine! My understudy, Kingsley Hollinger, who took over the role from me in August, has gone to Paris for the week and _his_ understudy is supposed to perform the next eight shows. Only last night, the idiot got really _really_ drunk after the show at some New Year’s Eve party and is currently suffering the not-so-pleasant effects of alcohol poisoning. He can’t perform tonight and there’s no one else to take his place. Burnard somehow heard via the Broadway grapevine that I am back in the city and he rang to beg me to take tonight’s performance.”

Blaine gasped and clapped his hands together. “Oh, Baby; that’s … Oh my goodness, that’s just awesome!”

Finally, Kurt slowly let out a breath he appeared to have been holding in. “Yeah – yeah, it is, isn’t it?” He clutched at Blaine’s arm. “Oh my soul, Blaine - I get to perform again! I get to be on a Broadway stage again. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed it.”

But, Blaine nodded in perfect understanding. “No, I think I _do_ get it. Last night, at the show, I watched you at one point. You were mouthing along with the songs and I could sense your frustration at being in a seat in the audience and not on the stage.”

Kurt reached for Blaine’s hand and, raising it to his mouth he kissed the knuckles tenderly. “That’s because every time you watch a professional football match, you feel exactly the same way, don’t you?” he asked with complete insightful empathy.

“Yeah, yeah absolutely,” agreed Blaine softly. There was a quiet, heavy moment between them before Blaine suddenly gasped. “Oh wow! – I’ve just realised; if you perform tonight, then I’ll get to see it. I’ll get to see _you_ on stage! Oh, Beautiful – how wonderful is that?”

There was a brief pause as Kurt nodded, slowly realising this fact too. What would it be like to perform knowing that Blaine, _his boyfriend_ was in the audience watching him? But then Blaine continued.

“Could I, though? Would I be able to see it? I’ll stand … I’ll stand at the back. I don’t mind, even in the wings; Hell, I’ll hang from the rafters; anywhere, just to see you in your rightful place.” It was nothing short of begging and Kurt was touched at the genuine and rather obvious indication that Blaine would be thrilled to see Kurt in action on stage.

“Without question,” agreed Kurt and then he frowned. “The only thing is; Burnard wants me to go in now, this morning, to rehearse with the cast just to iron out any rusty patches I may have. It’s been a while. Could you? … um … Do you think you could entertain yourself today and then meet me at the theatre this evening?”

Blaine reached forward and kissed his boyfriend on the lips. “For you? The world!” he promised. “But first, I’m making you a kickass breakfast.”

**************************************************************************************************************************

Blaine pulled the red wool scarf tighter around his neck and his shoulders shivered in the jacket he was wearing. Kurt had been right, it was bitterly cold outside on this first day of January. There was an icy wind blowing on the streets and, as he rocked up and down on his heels, Blaine tried to work out what he could do with the long day ahead of him.

Although slightly disappointed to be left alone in New York on what was supposed to be their special couple’s breakaway trip, Blaine was overjoyed for Kurt’s opportunity to perform that night and he really couldn’t wait to see his flawless boyfriend in his natural environment. As he stood outside the giant M&Ms store on Broadway trying to shake life into his cold fingers, a red double-decker bus drew up to the curb beside him and Blaine was struck with an inspired idea. What better way to spend a winter’s day in New York?

Quickly, he purchased a ticket from the vendor nearby and boarded the ‘Hop-On, Hop-Off’ sight-seeing bus, easily securing a seat downstairs which would still afford him good views of the city. Surprisingly, the bus filled quite quickly with cheerful, chatty tourists and soon they were moving away from the kerb and easing into the still tranquil early morning streets. Blaine enjoyed the tales the tour guide gave as they passed each and every sight worth noting.

Around lunchtime, he disembarked and headed in the direction of Washington Square Park but a wrong turn or two had him hopelessly off course and he was about to pull out his phone to access the GPS, when he came upon a quaint café with a bright red awning over the door. On the left, beside the door, a blackboard easel boasted a hand-written sign inviting passers-by to “ _Come in and recover from last night.”_ It stood bravely, valiantly holding its position in the face of the chilly wind _._

Without hesitation, Blaine pulled the door open and stepped inside. Coloured lights, hanging from the ceiling, glowed dimly, providing the large room with a warm, vibrant atmosphere despite the weak wintry sun outside. Blaine found a vacant booth and slid comfortably into the seat before he was greeted by an enthusiastic waiter.

“Hello there, Happy New Year! My name’s Max and I am more than happy to provide you with whatever you need today,” he announced before dissolving into a fit of giggles as Blaine cocked his head at the man’s flamboyant mirth.

“Oh, Honey, I’m so sorry; that sounded positively pornographic. Let me rephrase – I’m Max and I’ll bring you whatever you want to eat or drink today.” He cocked his head and looked at Blaine inquisitively, “Better?”

Blaine chuckled, “Yeah, much,” he agreed and quickly gave his lunch order to the smiling man.

“All alone on New Year’s day? Honey, that’s no good,” the chattering waiter commented but Blaine shook his head, denying the fact.

“No, I’m not alone, actually – my boyfriend had an emergency rehearsal.”

“Ooohh, that sounds exciting,” chanted the man in a sing-song voice and he patted Blaine on the shoulder. “Well, you just let me know if you need anything else and I’ll get the kitchen to get right on this order for you.”

Halfway through his beer and cheeseburger, Blaine heard the first tinkling of the piano. Intrigued, he listened as someone began to play and the few diners dotted around at the café’s various tables began to sing along. By the time he was finished his burger, Blaine was singing along as well and then, he stood up to join the small crowd that had gathered around the upright piano.

After a lengthy while, the talented pianist held up his hands in mock surrender and announced, “No more from me – I’m still exhausted from last night. Somebody else can take over from me.”

Lifting himself from the bench, he walked away to the bar. Blaine looked around expectantly, sure that someone would definitely take the vacant place before the piano but when nobody did, he caught Max’s eye, “Could I, do you think?” he asked tentatively.

“You play?” asked Max and Blaine nodded.

Max’s face lit up as brightly as the Christmas tree that was standing proudly in the corner of the room. “Well then, go for it, honey,” he encouraged and Blaine took his seat at the piano bench.

Max clapped his hands to get the attention of the lunchtime guests. “Alright, everybody!” he announced loudly to the room, “My boy here is new, so you all be nice and welcome …” He raised an eyebrow at Blaine, waiting for him to supply a name.

“Blaine Anderson,” he supplied softly and Max smiled delightedly.

“Blaine Anderson! Ladies and gents and others – here you go!” he shouted.

Blaine warmed his fingers very quickly up and down the keyboard in a series of quick scales and then he began to play and hum along. Soon, he was singing comfortably but, oddly, many people weren’t joining in.

When Max brought him a beer refill, Blaine asked without halting his fingers on the keyboard, “Aren’t they enjoying it? Why aren’t they singing along?”

“Oh honey,” Max replied honestly, “I told them all to shut up. Your voice is amazing, Blaine. Are you a professional musician? How come I’ve not heard of you?”

Blaine smiled, “Nah – I’m a football coach in Ohio.”

Max’s right hand clutched his chest in an overly dramatic gesture. “Oh sweet mercy! What a waste, honey.” Then, turning around to face the crowded room, he yelled, “Okay everyone – the midget wants ya’ll up here to sing along – he’s feeling a little lonely.”

Immediately, the same small crowd gathered around the piano and sang along as Blaine pounded out song after song on the piano. There was a rousing chorus of “Sing us a song, you’re the piano man” and when it came to an end, Blaine checked his watch and gasped.

“Shit ! I’ve got to get going – I’m going to be late for the theatre if I don’t move now.”

Quickly he settled his bill and thanked the patrons who had sung along with him. As he headed for the door, a voice called out, “Hey Blaine! Wait up.”

He turned around to find an elderly gentleman with a partially bald head holding out his hand to shake Blaine’s.

“Congratulations on an excellent performance,” he said but when Blaine simply shrugged off the compliment, he continued. “No, seriously, that’s the best I’ve heard in years.”

“Thank you,” Blaine replied, glancing pointedly at his watch.

“Listen, call me,” continued the elderly gentleman, “here’s my card. I may have an idea.”

Blaine thanked him hurriedly and slipped the card into his jeans back pocket without reading the details printed thereon.

“Thank you, Sir, but I must run. My boyfriend’s on Broadway tonight.”

“Go get some, Honey!” yelled Max as Blaine closed the door behind him.

He rushed. He really did. Luckily, he found his way back to the main road where he was able to find a subway station where, fortunately, the trains were on time and not overly crowded. Blaine made it back to Kurt’s loft in time to have a quick shower and to change into the outfit Kurt had decided he should wear. Then it was a mad dash to make it out the door, onto the subway and back into the city. Once he reached the theatre district, Blaine stopped rushing and came to a halt at the flower-seller on 44th Street to buy a bunch of blood-red roses before making his way to the Lyceum Theatre on 45th.

Outside on the pavement, he came to stand before the theatre doors, marvelling at the billboard which sported a large banner running across the show’s details.

 **Announcing Kurt Hummel in the role of Liam** **for one night only!**

Blaine shivered with excited but nervous anticipation. _That’s my boyfriend_ , he thought _. I’m so damn lucky_.

He made his way toward the single open door on the side of the Box Office and announced himself to the usher standing just inside the foyer.

“Oh, Mr Anderson,” she gushed, “We’ve been expecting you. Mr Hummel would like to see you. Please follow me.”

Blaine followed the neatly dressed young lady through a side door which led backstage. He was struck by the very obvious disparity between the glitz and glamour of the front of house and the stark neglect of a rundown, unkempt backstage area.

They passed several people who called out a simple “ _hello_ ” or “ _evening_ ” in casual greeting but then she stopped in front of a grimy white door which boasted the name **Kurt Hummel** on it and she knocked rapidly three times. The door immediately swung open and a very tall, handsome man took up most of the space. He looked Blaine up and down.

“You must be Blaine. I’ve heard so much about you all day from Kurt that I feel that I know you already so well. Come in, Come in! Thanks, Marge, we’ll take him from here,” he continued speaking as he grabbed Blaine’s arm to lead him further into the small dressing room.

Kurt stood up from in front of the mirror, turned around and, watching him, Blaine thought his heart would stop.

“Beautiful, you look you look so … different.,” he whispered. “Stunning, in fact,” he qualified.

Kurt was completely made up and dressed in his Scene One stage costume which comprised of light-beige, rough-finish drawstring palazzo trousers and a white long-sleeved bulky linen shirt which made him look, in Blaine’s opinion, utterly ravishing. His hair had been untidily spiked up off his forehead and the eyeliner accentuating those beautiful azure ocean eyes caused Blaine’s breath to hitch.

“You like?” Kurt asked shyly and then approached Blaine who held out the roses in front of him. Kurt smiled his thanks and took the roses from him, smelling them before placing them gently on the dresser.

“Can I … Can I hold you?” Blaine asked uncertainly. “I won’t kiss you or anything … I just want to -”

“You better kiss me, Coach Anderson or I won’t go on that stage,” threatened Kurt laughingly.

Blaine grinned and relaxed immediately. His Kurt was still there, somewhere under the make-up and costume was the man he’d fallen for in Lima and he leaned forward into Kurt’s space. It was Kurt who took control of the kiss and he pulled Blaine still closer when he felt that the coach wanted to pull away.

“I missed you so much today,” he murmured against Blaine’s lips.

“Did you?” asked Blaine and then, pulling his head away from Kurt’s, he asked “Are you ready for this?”

“Absolutely! He was bloody awesome in rehearsal – like he’d never ever bloody been away!”

In the presence of his beautiful boyfriend, Blaine had managed to forget about the stranger in the room but now the effusive compliments made Blaine look up and stare at him blankly. Kurt clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Argh, where are my manners?” he frowned. “Blaine, this is Cameron - my good friend, writer and creator of _My Turn._ ”

Cameron shook Blaine’s hand and said, “I’m delighted to meet you, Blaine. I can see Lima has been good to Kurt.” Blaine returned the handshake and accepted the compliment with a smile. “And now, champagne!” Cameron declared and he bustled to one side of the room to wrestle the cork from the bottle he had managed to produce.

Blaine’s cell phone rang suddenly and he retrieved it from his pocket. When he saw who was calling, he spoke quietly to Kurt, “I’ll just take this outside, okay?”

Kurt nodded, completely focused on pulling apart the plastic water cups into which Cameron wanted to pour the champagne. Blaine stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind him. His thumb deftly sliding the green icon across the screen to initiate the call, he lifted the instrument to his ear and spoke quietly.

“Carole?”

*************************************************************************************

Kurt was phenomenal. There simply was no other word or words to describe his performance in Blaine’s opinion. Watching his boyfriend sing and act his way through the tragic tale of Liam was nothing short of exhilarating. The critics had been right: Kurt was ‘born ready for this role’. Blaine was mesmerised from start to finish by the electrifying magnetism of Kurt’s performance and the tears in Blaine’s eyes reflected his emotional torment of the moment.

Kurt bowed and accepted the standing ovation from the audience with grateful thanks, his eyes glistening with barely-suppressed emotion. He waved delightedly at the audience and then, finding Blaine in the front row standing with his hands held together in front of his chin almost like a frozen clap, he blew a kiss to his boyfriend before scampering off the stage with the rest of the cast as the orchestra brought the score to a crashing crescendo.

A long time later, once the audience had departed, Blaine was alone in the empty theatre, waiting for Kurt who came through the side door laughing at something Cameron was saying.

“Blaine!” he squealed happily and ran into his boyfriend’s waiting arms. “Did you like it?”

For a long time, Blaine held Kurt tight in his arms, the silent tears coursing down his face, until Kurt began to squirm, a little uncomfortable in the overly-long embrace.

“Blaine?”

Kurt pulled back slightly, and caught sight of the anguish on Blaine’s face.

“Blaine, honey, what’s wrong? Was I that terrible?” he tried to joke but Blaine shook his head from side to side.

“Kurt, Beautiful, you crushed it. I am so proud of you.”

“But, you’re crying,” Kurt frowned at the discrepancy. “Why are you crying? They’re not happy tears – I can tell. Blaine what’s wrong?”

Blaine took a deep breath and uttered the words he wished with all his heart he did not have to say.

“Kurt, sweetheart, we have to go home.”


	21. A Minute's Silence

  **A Minute’s Silence**

**Broadway Round-Up**

Staff writer: Julian Baker

 

_It was this reviewer’s very real privilege to be in the audience last night to witness Kurt’s Hummel’s triumphant return to Broadway. Having said that though, to the performer, I would like to extend my sincerest personal condolences on the passing of his father early last month._

_However, judging from his portrayal of Liam last night, it has to be acknowledged that Mr Hummel’s bereavement appears to have transported the actor into a whole new realm of creativity. I was among the first few to review My Turn, over a year ago, when it first opened on Broadway with Mr Hummel in the lead role. I said it then, and I state it now again: the dreadfully tragic story of Liam Cavendish is one which just simply had to be told and what better way than on stage, in song, dance and mime? _

_Back then, when it first opened, Mr Hummel was nothing short of extraordinary. No one in the audience was left with any doubt that he felt acutely in sync with the character and we all know he had much to do with the original concept, together with writer ‘extraordinaire’, Mr Cameron Watson. I was not present in the house on the 1st January when Mr Hummel replaced the absent understudy but I have read other reviews which claimed he was “as fantastic then as he had been on his own opening night.” So, it was with a sense of excited anticipation that I approached last night’s performance - the show’s management having announced the exciting news that Mr Hummel would be returning to the show three times a week._

_But, nothing could have prepared me for the raw emotion I was to witness. Mr Hummel seemed to rip open his chest and lay his heart bare on the stage floor for the audience to see. It was uncomfortable, it was exhilarating, it was pure, unadulterated theatre and I was captivated by this new level of perception and heartache which, quite literally, seemed to ooze fluidly from the actor’s pores. Never before have I ever felt the desperately bizarre urge to rush up onto a stage, gather a character in my arms and embrace him until the agony of hurt had passed, but I did last night. Mr Hummel, you have this reviewer’s appreciation and applause, and you deserve every accolade and ovation that is sure to come your way._

 

Slowly, Blaine replaced the theatre section of the newspaper on his desk and reached inside a pocket to retrieve a clean handkerchief. He wiped away the tears that had gathered in his eyes as he read the review of Kurt’s first night back on Broadway.

“Beautiful,” he whispered brokenly, his face buried now in the soft comforting fabric. “What have you done to us?”

 

 

Blaine berates himself daily for what happened between himself and Kurt. But he couldn’t have foreseen the epic fallout because he didn’t see the warning signs which was, probably, just as bad, because when the vicious storm struck, destroying absolutely everything in its path – Blaine was left helpless, defenceless and all alone.

In retrospect, Blaine knows, now, that he _should_ have recognised the signs or those that he did actually recognise, he knows _now_ that he apparently misread them completely.

For instance, he _should_ have known that Kurt was shutting down; simultaneously erecting hasty walls while weeping on Blaine’s shoulder in front row of the theatre. The news of Burt’s third and fatal heart attack sucked the joy and delight from his beautiful boyfriend’s face and Blaine had held on tightly as Kurt’s flood of tears ran its course and took its toll.

Blaine _should_ have sensed the barriers being constructed in the quick, clipped tone of Kurt’s barrage of questions that followed his emotional torrent.

“When?”

“How?”

“Where?”

“Who told you?”

“When?”

The signs were there in the perplexed, betrayed look Kurt gave him when Blaine explained that Carole had rung with the news just before Kurt had gone on stage. That look alone _should_ have been a bright- red flashing, warning sign and Blaine _should_ never have missed the message hidden in the dangerously quiet question, “And you didn’t tell me?”

Blaine _should_ have realised immediately that _that_ was where he’d gone wrong but he didn’t – all he saw was his distraught boyfriend and he immediately sought for the many ways he could help to make it better, easier somehow for Kurt to cope with this dreadful loss. He arranged seats for them back to Ohio on the 3am flight which meant they arrived bleary-eyed and exhausted back in Lima around 6am the following morning to be greeted at the front door by a red-eyed, weeping Carole. Kurt went into her waiting arms immediately while Blaine busied himself by carrying in their luggage in from the taxi.

Blaine _should_ have figured something was not right when Kurt explained that he wanted to be alone, that Blaine should return to his apartment and wait for Kurt’s text or phone-call. Of course, Kurt had wrapped it up in concern for Carole and a million and one things to be done and Blaine had reluctantly agreed.

“Beautiful, I’m so sorry you’re hurting right now but just know: you are not alone; I am here with you.”

Blaine _should_ have sensed that there was a problem when his texts over the next few days went unanswered and he was about to make good on his promise to drive over to Kurt’s house when a text did finally arrive from Kurt.

**Blaine – it’s no use coming over – house inundated with relatives and still so much to do before tomorrow. I’ll see you at the funeral.**

Finally, at the funeral it dawned on Blaine that he was being deliberately evaded and rebuffed. Having arrived at the venue with them, he sat with Sam and Santana a few rows from the front. When Kurt walked in with Carole on his arm, Blaine’s heart wanted to break for his boyfriend. Kurt looked exhausted and completely drained of life. His pale face was gaunt from lack of sleep and his beautiful eyes couldn’t hide the traces of dark, unkind circles. Blaine guessed too, that the dark suit Kurt was wearing would be hiding severe weight loss as well. His breath hitched and he hoped to catch Kurt’s eye as he passed by but the man looked resolutely forward to the front of the room, his eyes fixed on a large portrait of Burt which stood, almost incongruently, on top of the casket which overflowed with brightly-coloured flowers.

His eyes trained on the back of Kurt’s head, Blaine didn’t hear a word of the ceremony. Only when Kurt stood up to deliver the eulogy did Blaine wish with all his heart that he could have been the one sitting beside the man to give his hand an encouraging squeeze. Blaine watched as Kurt, the consummate performer, delivered a sincere, heart-warming and, at times, cheerful tribute to his father and whilst there was not a dry eye left in the audience, Kurt’s impassive eyes revealed that his emotions, for now, were under control.

Afterwards, in the large venue next door where tea and snacks had been provided, most attendees filed passed Carole and Kurt to offer their deepest condolences. Blaine felt out of place in the queue with these strangers and yet, when he approached his boyfriend he was met with the same resigned, stoic face that Kurt had offered everyone else. Blaine breached the gap Kurt had created with his outstretched hand and took Kurt into his arms anyway. But he did not miss the reluctance in Kurt’s body, the stiffening and the abrupt pulling away.

“Kurt?”

“There’s a row of people behind you, Blaine,” Kurt offered with a shrug of his shoulders, his eyes not quite meeting Blaine’s. “I’ll speak to you later,” he promised, handing Blaine off to Carole who accepted and returned the coach’s desperate hug with an easy, kind smile.

 

‘ _Later’_ didn’t actually happen because when he did approach Kurt, Blaine was told that he should leave with Sam and Santana because Kurt’s car was filled to the brim with relatives.

“I could come by the house later, if you like?” he offered quietly but Kurt shook his head.

“No, no that won’t be necessary – still so much to do with the family and the lawyers,” was the response, his eyes still darting everywhere but Blaine’s face.

“Okay,” Blaine accepted the excuse, swallowing his disappointment. “Well, I’ll ring you later.”

He reached for the Kurt’s hand but Kurt pulled away immediately, looking around.

“Kurt, love, what’s wrong?” Blaine asked and immediately the venomous look in Kurt’s eyes told him he had asked the completely wrong question.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt hissed. “We’re at my dad’s _funeral_ , Blaine and you ask what’s wrong?”

“Beautiful …” Blaine tried desperately to redeem himself, “Look, I didn’t mean – You know I’m - ” But Kurt interrupted impatiently.

“Blaine, I can’t right now. Just go. I talk to you later.” He turned away from Blaine and walked off in the direction of Carole and a small group of older women.

 

“Is everything alright Blaine,” Santana asked as she drove them home.

“No, ‘Tana, I think everything is _not_ okay. Somewhere between here and New York, I’ve lost Kurt. I don’t recognise this man I saw today. I know he’s grieving and I know he’s hurting something awful but he’s keeping his distance from me. It almost feels like he can’t bear to be near me.”

“Wait, you know what? I read about this once,” Sam’s voice interjected from the back seat. “It’s like back in the day when they would shoot the messenger who brought bad news.  You were the bearer of the bad news so now Kurt sees you and his father’s death as one and in his head he can’t separate the two.”

“Samuel!” yelled Santana smacking the steering wheel as she drove, “That is seriously the weirdest shit that’s ever fallen from that trouty mouth and that’s saying something because, honestly, over the years some serious rubbish has been known to fall.”

But Blaine intervened. “No, actually, ‘Tana, that’s about the only thing that makes sense right now. Kurt and I - we got real close in New York. We were both completely on the same page and ready to take our relationship to the next level - ”

“Okay, wait! Stop please! Your sex life with Lady Hummel might be too much for even my ears to handle…”

“Can it, Santana!” interrupted Sam. “Time and place, please?” he rebuked harshly.

Blaine continued, seemingly unperturbed by the pair duelling in the car. “I told him I loved him, ‘Tana and he told me he loved me too. That’s why we were able to be intimate on New Year’s Eve because we were sure of each other, secure in our love for each other. But now, I don’t know? Since our return last week, he’s hardly spoken to me and hardly returned my calls or text messages. Surely at a time like this – _this_ is when you lean on your boyfriend? I know if this was happening to me, I would want him at my side the whole time.”

“Unless he was the one who told you of your father’s death,” reminded Sam and Blaine nodded thoughtfully as Santana pulled into a vacant parking space outside their building.

********************************************************************************************************************

 

Kurt didn’t return to school the day after the funeral which was to be expected as he still had much of his father’s business to take care of. He did send a text asking Blaine to run his Glee club rehearsals for that week which Blaine did with great pleasure and secret enjoyment. But when he sent texts to Kurt explaining what he’d done with the kids each day, there was no response. Blaine took to deliberately phrasing his texts with a question in the hopes that it would engage Kurt in dialogue but, instead, Kurt had rung him.

“Blaine, please you have to make those decisions on your own. I can’t deal with petty Glee Club matters now when I’m trying to decide what to do with my father’s garage. This is why I asked _you_ to deal with it so that I didn’t have to. Please tell me you are up to the task?”

Blaine bit back the retort that had risen quickly in hurt retaliation and simply apologised for disturbing Kurt. Before ending the call though, he whispered, “I miss you, Kurt,” but he wasn’t sure if his boyfriend had heard him or not because there was no reply.

*************************************************************************************

 

The weekend after the funeral, Blaine was torn between wanting to spend time with Kurt and travelling up to Westerville to see Nick and Jeff to spend some much needed time on the piano again. He decided not to give Kurt any warning but simply arrived unannounced at the Hummel house.

After a long while, Carole answered the door and Blaine could see that she’d been crying as recently as a few moments prior to his arrival.

“Oh Blaine,” she sighed into his warm hug. “It’s so good to see you, honey.”

“You too, Carole. How are you holding up?” he asked kindly.

Carole nodded half-heartedly.”Some days are better than others,” she replied with a small smile. “Today’s been fairly rotten.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you then,” Blaine apologised, “but I was hoping to speak with Kurt. Is he here?”

Carole shook her head slowly not meeting Blaine’s eyes. “No, I’m afraid he isn’t, Blaine but I can tell him you stopped by.” The tears were filling her eyes again.

“Oh, okay? Yeah, please tell him that. I should go but I’m not sure I should leave you when you’re upset like this. Is there something I can do?”

Carole smiled and patted his arm. “No, honey, I’m okay. I’m going to head upstairs and have a long soak in the tub. It always does wonders for me.”

Blaine hugged the grieving widow once more and headed towards the door. At that moment, there was a crash from upstairs followed by a curse which Blaine definitely recognised as Kurt’s voice. He looked back at Carole in hurt astonishment and the guilt flooded her eyes with tears again.

“He asked you to tell me he wasn’t here, didn’t he?” Blaine asked Carole, the awful realization dawning, and she nodded helplessly.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” she added in an attempt to explain.

“Me neither,” said Blaine forlornly. “Would you just tell him tell him that I love him and I’m here for him when he’s ready?”

Blaine got into his car, looked up sadly at the windows on the top floor wondering if Kurt was watching; he put the car in reverse and backed out of Kurt’s drive then he changed gears and headed towards Westerville.

****************************************************************************************************************

 

“It’s bullshit!”

Nick slammed his fist down on the bar counter and despite Jeff’s consoling patting on his back, Nick was having none of it.

“The little shit promised me to my face that he would not hurt Blaine. Lying, scheming bastard! How dare he? What the flaming hell is his problem?”

“He’s grieving, Nicky, and no one can make sense of that,” Jeff explained quietly.

“Grieving, huh? Kurt’s grieving the death of his father. Then tell me this, Angel, what exactly is it that Blaine is doing, then?”

Jeff looked over towards the piano where Blaine was playing, his heart and soul pouring into the haunting melody as his fingers ran slowly up and down the ivory keys. Both men heard the tightening in Blaine’s voice as he struggled through what was normally one of his favourite ‘go to’ songs and they could see his watery eyes as he sang sadly into the microphone.

“That’s grieving, Angel. And the last time I saw Blaine that hurt - that broken - was when the doctors told him he’d never play football again.”

*********************************************************************************************************************

 

Three days later, Mr Williams called Blaine into his office and asked the coach if he would consider taking over the Glee Club permanently following Mr Hummel’s resignation.

“Mr Hummel’s what?” Blaine gasped in shock.

“He’s resigned with immediate effect,” replied Mr Williams, his voice completely unemotional. “Truth be told, it came as no surprise to me. I always knew Mr Hummel was only here in Lima because of his father. The minute I heard his father had passed away, I knew that we would be losing Mr Hummel. But, be that as it may, _you’re_ still here, Blaine, and you’ve been doing a great job standing in for him these last two weeks, I thought perhaps we could juggle your schedule a wee bit and have you take over the club completely?”

Blaine was choking on the words he couldn’t get out fast enough. “No, Mr Williams, I can’t do that. Look, I … I’ve gotta …. I’ve gotta go.”

It was a small miracle that Blaine made it to the Hummel home in one piece as he had no recollection of collecting his keys and jacket from his office, getting into his car and driving to Kurt’s house. All he recognised was a blinding rage surging in his head threatening to spill over when he knocked fiercely on the door.

“Kurt! I know you’re in there, so open up!” he yelled.

The door swung open and Kurt’s tired, wretched face appeared and Blaine’s heart took a moment to smart at the sight of his beautiful boyfriend, so haunted, so hurt.

“There’s no need to yell on my front porch, Blaine,” Kurt spoke softly but without any emotion - so disconnected that the fury in Blaine’s brain kicked in again. “Come in,” invited Kurt.

“If you ask me, there’s every reason for me to be shouting right now,” Blaine fired the first volley as he walked in passed Kurt and turned to face his boyfriend in the entrance hall. “Can we talk? Please?” he begged.

“Are we going to talk or are you going to yell?” Kurt asked and Blaine was immediately defeated by the cold, detached man standing before him.

“Kurt? What happened?” And he held his hand up as Kurt’s mouth fell open aghast that Blaine could still be asking _that_ question.

“No, no don’t attack me again – you _know_ what I mean. What’s happened to us? What’s wrong? Why won’t you let me in? Why do I have to hear from Peter Williams of all people that my _boyfriend_ has resigned? Four weeks ago, Kurt, I held you in my arms and I told you that I love you and you told me that you love me too. Four weeks ago, we were intimate – we connected. I’ve never felt this …I’ve never been _that_ close to someone in my whole life as I was with you in New York. But we returned to Lima and it’s like I barely know you. I’m afraid to reach out to touch you because I know you’re going to find a reason to move away, to disengage. You don’t return my calls; you don’t reply to my texts. It’s like …it’s like you’re very, _very_ angry with me and I don’t know why. Please tell me, Beautiful -”

“Don’t call me that!” snapped Kurt.

Blaine swallowed. “Kurt, please tell me. What did I do?”

Kurt looked at him oddly. “You don’t really know do you?” he whispered incredulously and Blaine shook his head sadly.

“No, I honestly don’t. I’ve been racking my brain for weeks now trying to work out what I did to warrant this abusive treatment from the man I love.”

“Abusive treatment,” Kurt interrupted, “that’s a bit harsh, Blaine – I’ve been busy with my father’s _death_ , his _funeral_. I’ve been wrapping up his _estate_ ,” Kurt spat out the horrible words as if they were distasteful to him. “I’m sorry if you feel you’ve been neglected. I’ve had a little bit too much on my plate to pander to the wants of a needy boyfriend.”

Blaine breathed in harshly as the caustic words hit their mark and wounded him severely.

“Kurt – that’s not true and you know it. You’ve been punishing me for something and I think I deserve to know what,” he argued.

“You deserve to know? That’s an interesting turn of phrase coming from you, Blaine,” Kurt countered.

“What do you mean?”

“You think you _deserve_ to know and yet, when it came down to the most critical piece of information of _my_ _entire_ life, _you_ decided that I _didn’t_ deserve to know,” Kurt’s voice was loud now, strong as he found his momentum.

“I’m sorry, I’m confused.” Blaine shook his head once or twice trying to make sense of Kurt’s statement. “I decided you didn’t deserve to know what? What the hell are you talking about Kurt? I am so lost here. Please, Beautiful?”

“Blaine!” Kurt’s voice had reached its maximum volume. “You _knew_ my father had had a third heart attack! You _knew_ he was dying! You _knew_ he wouldn’t make it and _you_ decided I didn’t deserve to know!”

Blaine’s breath caught in his chest and he slumped down into one of the chairs in the kitchen.

“The phone-call before your show,” he whispered.

“Yes,” Kurt declared self-righteously. “Carole told me that she rang your cell because mine was off. She told you that my father wasn’t going to make it and that we should come home. But you, _you,_ Blaine Anderson, you took it upon yourself _not_ to tell me! You decided to keep that for yourself and only after the show, only _after_ I had performed – that’s when you decided to rip my heart out.”

“Kurt, Beautiful – please believe me. I never meant to hurt you at all. It wasn’t like that at all. You make me sound like a callous, cold-hearted …”

“That’s because you are, Blaine!” Kurt yelled, the tears now welling up in his eyes.

Blaine couldn’t believe the man standing before him, yelling at him and accusing him of deliberately hurting his beautiful boyfriend. The words stuck in his throat as he tried to explain.

“Kurt, I never …”

“Wait one moment! I want to show you something.”

Kurt left the kitchen and, in despair, Blaine let his head fall into his hands on the kitchen table. He looked up when Kurt returned, waving a piece of paper at him. It was crumpled almost beyond recognition but Kurt opened it up and flattened it with the back of his hand on the kitchen table.

“This,” he hissed at Blaine, “this is a letter Mercedes had me write when I made my decision to come back to Lima. She knew that I would regret giving up Broadway and she wanted to help me remember why I had made that decision when those times of regret came. I want to you to read _this_ line, Blaine – this line right here.”

Kurt’s finger jabbed at the paper and, through his tears, Blaine read:

 

**1\. I want to be there beside him, holding his hand if I have to say Goodbye.**

 

He looked up at his boyfriend in anguish. “Kurt, I - ”

“ _You_ took that away from me, Blaine. I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye,” Kurt’s tears were streaming down his face now unashamedly showing Blaine just how much he was hurting.

“But Kurt, even if we had left as soon as Carole rang, we probably wouldn’t have made it back in time. I just wanted so much for you to have that moment on stage,” Blaine knew from the look on Kurt’s face that it was useless to try to explain but he had to at least try. Kurt’s furious temper cut off his attempt.

“I’ve _had_ that moment on stage! Damn it! I’ve had _many_ moments! I gave up all _those_ moments so I could be _with_ my father, Blaine. Don’t you get it? You _chose_ not to tell me so _you_ could have that moment of seeing me on stage – this was all about _you_!”

“No, Kurt, that’s not true. Dear heaven, how could you think I could be so selfish? I swear, Kurt, I was thoroughly torn that night - I didn’t know what to do. Carole trusted me to do whatever I thought was right. I knew we wouldn’t get back in time…”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“… but there was a theatre full of people …”

“Screw them!”

“ … and you were beyond excited for the opportunity.”

To this Kurt had no come back but he snatched up the piece of paper and waved it in front of Blaine’s face again.

“This!” he yelled, “ _This_ is what I wanted, Blaine. I wanted to be here in Lima, available to say goodbye if I had to and _you_ denied me that opportunity. You took that moment from me!” He started to sob. “I didn’t get to say … goodbye …. to my dad and … I’ll never …. ever … never forgive you for that.”

Blaine stared dumbly at the sobbing wreck of a man standing in front of him.

 _I did that_ , he thought. _I destroyed this beautiful man_.

His heart was aching with a very real physical pain and his brain was whirling with thoughts and arguments and counter-arguments and excuses but nothing made any sense. Blaine stood up, somewhat unsteadily, and pushed the chair back in under the table. He held onto the back rest to hold himself upright and looked at Kurt.

“I’m … I’m so sorry Kurt. I never meant …”

“Just go, Blaine. Just go!”

**********************************************************************************************************

 

Over the next few days, booked off from school with the pathetic excuse of a bout of ‘flu, Blaine attempted to explain his case and defend his decision though a number of texts sent to Kurt, all of which went unanswered.

Eventually Santana wrenched his sorry ass out of bed, demanded he showered and sent him back to school. By this time the Glee kids had been told that Mr Hummel had returned to New York and Sam told Blaine that Carole had gone to stay with her sister in Florida for a few months, leaving the house with the realtors to rent out. Blaine was a walking corpse but his friends rallied around to help and assist where they could. Every evening, without fail, Blaine called Kurt’s phone and every evening, without fail, his call was declined.

 

 

Alone in his office on the last day of February, Blaine picked up the theatre section of the newspaper again and re-read the article.

“You’re wrong Julian Baker,” he explained to the reviewer. “It’s not his bereavement that has caused him so much pain – it’s me. It’s all me.”

Just then, Sam’s phone, which was lying casually abandoned on the desk, vibrated with an incoming message. Blaine looked at the phone with little interest but then, slowly, a plan began to form in his head.

Slowly, he reached out and picked up Sam’s phone, sliding his thumb across the screen to unlock it, quickly he found Kurt’s number among Sam’s contacts.

With a deep breath, he clicked on ‘connect' and listened as the phone rang on the other side.

 

 


	22. End Zone

  **End Zone**

_**The ‘promised land’ for a football player.** _

**_You score a touchdown when you enter the end zone in control of the football._ **

 

 

Rachel pushed open the wooden door of the loft and entered her home. The delicious aroma of curry rushed forward to greet her, wrapping its flavoursome arms around her and welcoming her in from the nippy chill of a New York April evening.

“Oh Kurt,” she exclaimed, “That smells too delicious.” She walked towards their table in the centre of the living space, divesting herself of her bag and various parcels as Kurt turned away from the stove, a wooden spoon in his hand and a tired smile of greeting on his face.

“It does, doesn’t it?” he agreed softly. “I’m quite proud of this particular batch,” he declared.

Rachel walked towards the stove, peered over his shoulder to gaze into the simmering pot and inhaled deeply. Then she turned and looked sharply at her roommate.

“Okay, spill – good session or bad session today?” she asked. “Because I’m never too sure; you cook deliciously wonderful food when you’re sad but you cook just as fabulously when you’re happy.” She moved away from the stove, both to give Kurt some physical space to formulate an answer to her question and also to pour herself a much-needed drink.

Kurt shrugged. “It was an okay session, I guess,” he replied vaguely.

Rachel paused, the hand wrapped around a glass on its way to her mouth stopped and, instead, she pointed it at him.

“No, uh uh! You promised honesty. When you started these sessions at the beginning of last month, Kurt, you promised me: honesty. We agreed you didn’t have to share _what_ happened in the sessions but we did agree that you would always be honest and I think an ‘ _okay session’_ isn’t honest. Come on, sit down; talk to me.”

Kurt sighed deeply, turned the stove down to allow his curry to simmer and then took a seat at the table where Rachel poured him a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, setting it before him with an instruction to drink up.

“Okay – honesty? Here goes,” Kurt began. “Today, I got to a point where I could acknowledge that I completely and utterly screwed up.” He cocked his head anticipating a response from Rachel.

“What?” she asked, exasperated, “I’m listening to you.”

Kurt nodded, “Yeah, you are. I guess I was waiting for you to say, ‘ _Yes, Kurt, you did completely and utterly screw up_ ’.”

“Kurt, honey – there’s no judgement here. You did what you did and you’re living with the consequences of your actions. I’m not going to add to your heartache with the ‘ _I told you so’_ routine.”

She reached out a hand across the table and Kurt took it in his.

“Thank you, Ms Berry – that’s very kind of you,” he squeezed her hand in acknowledgement.

“Okay, so – continue,” she commanded grandly.

“Well, Lydia and I agreed that quite possibly the time had come for me to apologise to Blaine and to see if there was any way he could forgive me enough to consider still being friends with me.”

Unable to help herself, Rachel interrupted, “The apology I can understand Kurt – but friends? Really, why? I thought you love this man? That’s all I’ve heard the past few months: ‘ _I thought he loved me. God knows, I loved him. How could he do this to me_?’”

Kurt looked sharply at his friend. “I do not sound like that! And, of course, I love him! That’s why his betrayal hurt me so badly,” he countered quickly defending himself.

“Betrayal?” Rachel queried as Kurt clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“No, no that’s the wrong word. My sessions with Lydia have made me realise that what I perceived as betrayal was actually Blaine’s attempt to protect me. I do understand that now and, finally, I’m at a point where I can believe everything Blaine said to me that night and even over the next few days when he tried to make me understand why he chose to do what he did.”

“So, the plan is to apologise to Blaine and ask if he’ll consider still being friends with you.”

Kurt was about to reply when Rachel continued. “And, will that be enough for you, Kurt? You love him. You’ve spent the last few months repairing a broken heart but you’ve mourned the loss of him when you were the one who threw him away.”

“ _Threw him away_? That’s harsh, Rachel.” Kurt made sure his roommate understood the comment had stung.

“No, Kurt, what you did to him _was_ harsh,” she retorted.

Kurt raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, what happened to the no-judgement zone here?” he asked but Rachel was a steam train and barrelled on.

“Kurt, you yelled at him, you kicked him out of your house, you wouldn’t take his calls, you didn’t reply to his texts, you made Carole lie to him when he arrived at your house, you left Ohio without a word of farewell and you even changed your telephone number when Blaine tried to reach you using Sam’s phone.”

Finally Kurt’s ire had been provoked and he replied heatedly, “Wow! Rachel Berry, your memory is pretty amazing. I can see why you have a starring role on Broadway. Do you have a check list of all my faults?”

Kurt’s anger was closer to sheer embarrassment at having his unreasonable behaviour laid out on the table again and, as Lydia, his therapist, had patiently explained, that would always cause him to become defensive. He took a breath, realizing all of this again, just as he was replying to Rachel. He continued, sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. You _are_ right and everything you’ve said is completely accurate, unfortunately.”

Rachel nodded, accepting the apology but she patted his hand in comfort. “Honey, I’m just saying you’re going to ring him up and say, ‘Hey, Blaine, guess what? I’m really sorry but do you think we could be friends? Oh, yes and I live in New York now. So sorry I didn’t say goodbye when I left.”

Kurt sighed deeply and she noticed his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “Rachel, you can stop now because it’s all a moot point anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Rachel asked confused. “What’s a moot point?”

“I tried to ring him.” Kurt confessed quietly. “I tried to apologise. I tried to …” Kurt’s voice broke and his breath caught in his throat as he tried unsuccessfully to hold back the tears which trailed down his cheeks without check as he remembered the phone call he made earlier in the day.

 

 

_With shaking fingers, Kurt dialled the number of McKinley High School, berating himself for deleting Blaine’s number when he switched to the new phone. Hopefully, Ms Henderson, the old secretary at the school, wouldn’t recognise his voice when he asked to be transferred to Blaine’s gym office extension. After the mandatory three rings, connection was made and a bored female voice answered._

_“McKinley High School; Good morning, how may I help you?”_

_Kurt coughed, urging his voice to cooperate with him. “Good morning. Could you put me through to Mr Blaine Anderson’s office, please?” he asked politely._

_“Oh I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” the woman replied._

_“Is now not a good time? Kurt asked. “Is he busy elsewhere?”_

_“No, no it’s not that,” she continued. “I can’t put you through to his office because he doesn’t have an office anymore.”_

_Kurt interrupted, “He doesn’t have an office? How can that be?”_

_“Well, I guess he doesn’t have an office here because he doesn’t work here anymore,” was the forthright reply._

_“He doesn’t work there? What do you mean Blaine doesn’t work there?” Kurt was flabbergasted. “He’s the football coach at McKinley! Of course he works there,” he insisted._

_“Well, his departure was all so sudden. I actually remember that day very well because I was minding my own business here at my desk when Coach Anderson came hurrying in and demanded to see Mr Williams immediately. I could see that he’d been crying. And then his assistant, Mr Evans, came running up after him calling ‘Blaine, Blaine, give me my phone. What are you doing?’ But, then Blaine went into Mr Williams’ office and he was in there for about a half hour and when he came out he had been crying still more because his face was all red and blotchy and his voice was hoarse when he hugged Mr Evans who’d been waiting outside. Then he said, ‘The team’s all yours, Sam. You’re ready. I have to go.’ And that was the last any of us ever heard from him,” the gossipy secretary informed Kurt._

_Kurt listened in speechless shock on the other side of the phone but eventually he coughed up a reply._

_“What? He left McKinley? Did he transfer to another school? Where is he?”_

_The secretary seemed keen to continue. “One day, I asked Ms Lopez because Mr Anderson used to share an apartment with the head coach of the cheer squad but she didn’t know any more than anyone else. Apparently when she got home that afternoon, Blaine had packed a suitcase, left a note saying he was “going away to heal” and that was it. A storage company came for the rest of his belongings a week later. But as I understand it – nobody knows where he is. I didn’t even know he was injured again.”_

_Kurt was silent on the phone as he digested this appalling news. It was then the secretary seemed to remember her job._

_“I could put you through to Mr Williams, if you like,” she offered._

_“No, no thank you. That won’t be necessary at all.”_

 

 

“He’s gone, Rachel and I don’t know where he is and I don’t know who knows and even if Santana or Sam _do_ know – they’d never tell me. They’d protect him from me, as well they should.”

“Oh Kurt – I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Honey, it sounds like he resigned and left on the day he tried to ring you on Sam’s phone. When was that?”

Kurt swallowed the guilt down. Rachel had reached the same conclusion as he had.

“It was sometime towards the end of February, I think. He’d ring me at least once a day and I would always decline the calls and delete his messages. But I was careless that day in February, I accepted a call I thought was from Sam.” Rachel could hear the hopelessness in Kurt’s voice as he remembered that conversation.

 

 

_“Hello, Sam,” Kurt’s voice was polite but terse nevertheless._

_“Kurt, it’s me.” Blaine’s breathless voice broke Kurt’s heart all over again and before he could speak Blaine was continuing. “Beautiful, please don’t hang up, please listen to me. I really need to...”_

_“No, Blaine,” Kurt interrupted the man on the other side, “You don’t get to ‘need to’ anything. You don’t get to call me or speak to me, ever again. I will never forgive you for what you did to me, so just stop. Stop calling me – I’m never going to take your calls. Stop texting me – I don’t read them and don’t be using other people’s phones to sneak past my defences. In fact, you know what? Here’s a new flash: I’m changing my number.”_

_“God, Kurt, would you please give me a chance to explain?”_

_“No – you made yourself very clear that night, Blaine, as, I believe, I did too. I hate what you did to me and I will never forgive you!”_

_And he ended the call._

 

 

“The next day I changed my number,” Kurt reported forlornly.

“But you started seeing Lydia early in March, didn’t you?” Rachel asked.

“Yes, but over the weeks, we’ve moved from my grieving process to my relationship with Blaine and she’s been helping me with strategies for my temper, as well. This morning, we agreed that I would make that bold, somewhat courageous step to contact Blaine and beg his forgiveness.”

“Oh, honey,” Rachel was a good roommate, tears rolling down her cheeks, hurting right along with her friend as the tears flowed from his eyes.

“He was the love of my life, Rachel and I totally screwed everything up and now I don’t even know where he is. I desperately need him to know how sorry I am – just how completely and utterly sorry I am but I don’t have the option anymore to tell him and that’s chewing me up more than anything else. I guess I’ll be going to therapy then right through the summer.”

*******************************************************************************************************************

Much later that night, Kurt eventually gave up trying to fall asleep and switched on his bedside lamp. He sat up, swung his legs off the bed and leaned forward to open the drawer of his desk/table quietly so as not to disturb Rachel. Retrieving a pad of paper and a pen, he retreated back to the warmth of his bed and, sitting comfortably upright against the headboard, he began to write.

 

_**Dearest Blaine** _

**_Today I learned of your departure from McKinley High School and, as I write this, I have absolutely no idea where in the world you are. I can’t tell you how much that unsettles me and I guess if you ever do get to read this you’ll be saying in your head that that makes no sense to you considering how badly I treated you._ **

**_I’m sitting in my bed, writing this letter to you because I have no idea how to reach you, no clue how to contact you. I guess if I was a brave man, I would pluck up the courage to ask Nick and Jeff because I’m_** _**sure your oldest friends know how to reach you. The thing is, Blaine – I’m not brave – not at all. Besides that, I don’t think either of them would tell me where you are because I’m sure they’ve decided that I can’t be trusted and I can’t helping thinking they would be completely right.**_

**_Just four months ago, right here in this bed of mine in New York, we gave ourselves to each other. I trusted you and you trusted me with a very special part of our hearts and a very intimate part of our bodies and I broke that. No, let’s be honest, I destroyed that completely._ **

**_There are no words in the English language to adequately express my regret, Blaine – and I should know, because I’ve looked. I used my old high school thesaurus and even looked for some on Google but they all amount to the same thing:- I am most honestly, most dreadfully sorry for the hurt I caused you by my behaviour following the news of the death of my beloved dad._ **

**_I think, ….no, scratch that, … I know that if he was still here today, he would shake his head at me and tell me he’s really disappointed in my actions and that kills me all over again. I’m trapped in an awful, never-ending cycle of regret and guilt and sorrow._ **

**_But Blaine, here’s the thing – I did eventually come to accept that I had a problem. When I first got back to New York in January, Cameron and Rachel tried to get me to seek grief counselling but I refused. I had enough anger to keep me going and I continued to feed that fury with angry thoughts at what I thought was your ‘betrayal’. It was only after I had deleted your details and changed my phone number that I realised what complete loss meant. My dad was gone and now you were gone too. And that’s when I really began to grieve._ **

**_It got so bad that one day, Cameron came over, pulled me out of bed, got Rachel to dress me and, together, they drove me down to the community centre in Brooklyn where Cameron found me a grief counsellor. She helped me a bit but, eventually, we both agreed that I needed professional assistance and so Lydia – a psychologist - came into my life. I see her twice a week and, with her help, I’ve been able to unravel much of the disaster of the first few months of this year._ **

**_Here’s where I have to confess that you became the collateral damage in the warzone of my grief and for that I am most sorry. You are the sweetest, kindest, most compassionate person I know, Blaine and I attacked you for no reason. Lydia has helped me understand that I couldn’t deal with my own regret at having planned that trip to New York. I was the one who invited you along because I was the one who wanted out of Lima for a brief respite. I was the one who asked my dad if he would mind. So, actually, I was the reason we were not in Lima when he passed away. Not you. Not you at all, Blaine._ **

**_But see, because I’m a total coward, I couldn’t admit that truth to myself and so I chose you – the closest and most precious person closest to me. I transferred all my guilt onto you thereby making your decision the catalyst for my anger and the target of my grief._ **

**_I behaved abominably, Blaine and I truly will understand if you ever tell me that you cannot forgive me but I really need to apologise. I wish I could sit you down, look you in the eye and maybe even hold your hand as I tell_** _**you that I am so sorry I accused you of being selfish. I’m so sorry that I pushed you away. I’m so sorry that I yelled at you and lied to you. I regret not finding solace in the safety of our love and I wish, more than anything, that I had allowed you to comfort me as you were so keen to do.**_

**_I wish for so many things. I wish for the opportunity to make it up to you. To have you here in the loft right now, to pamper you with special treats, to shower you with hugs and cuddles and kisses. I wish you were right here, now, in my bed because I would show you how sorry I am. I would hold your body close to mine knowing that your love is a rare gift – one I didn’t recognise before._ **

**_This evening for the first time I listened to your Christmas gift CD – well Rachel and I listened while we prepared and ate supper. Then, I cried and she cried and, then, we both ate ice cream – straight out of the tub!_ **

**_Blaine, my dearest love, you are so incredibly, so spectacularly talented. The songs you wrote yourself are truly amazing and your voice belongs on Broadway! Don’t laugh, it’s true. I could totally see you belting out a rock classic like Wicked Little Town like no one else has ever done before. I read the inscription on the CD again and wonder if you still mean it._ **

**_Am I still your soulmate, Blaine or have you turned your back on me? Did I hurt you so badly that there’s no return from the abyss of our relationship?_ **

**_I guess I would accept it if you were to say that is the case. But, more than anything, I need you to accept my apology. I crave your forgiveness, Blaine. There’s a hollow pit in my stomach that is hopelessly desperate to be filled and I know that would only come with your acknowledged forgiveness._ **

**_Tonight, as I sit here I can only pray that you are somewhere safe, that you are cared for, that you are doing something you love and that perhaps you are surrounded by people who love you – people who deserve you._ **

**_If I pull back my drapes a little, there’s a small patch of night sky that I can see and there is one lonely star that I can barely make out as it blinks weakly in the New York sky. I’m wishing on it, Blaine, my dearest, dearest love – I’m wishing on that star. For a chance to apologise, for a chance to change, for a chance to love you as you deserve. For a chance…_ **

**_Yours Kurt._ **

********************************************************************************************************

The weeks rolled steadily one into another, the city becoming warmer and warmer as summer approached. As Kurt began to divest himself of the jackets he would wear outside the loft, he began to notice that Rachel’s concerted effort to keep him healthy had allowed him to regain the weight he’d lost so dramatically at the beginning of the year. The physical toll his role in the musical took still gave him that chance to lose himself in the tragedy that was not only Liam’s life but his own as well.

As the trees in Kurt’s favourite avenue in Central Park blossomed and bloomed brightly throughout the rest of April and May, he and Lydia continued to work towards a full recovery. He shared with her his letter of apology to Blaine and eventually she suggested that he need only see her once a week as he seemed to be doing much better. Kurt smiled grimly. Yeah, to the world, he seemed much better – he went on stage three times a week and gave up pieces of his heart, he watched mindless television shows with Rachel, he laughed at Jesse’s somewhat funny jokes, he spoke excitedly with Mercedes about her upcoming concert, but at night … at night, upon his return from the theatre, he wrote to Blaine. He bought a large spiral notebook and began to fill page after page with a record of his thoughts and anecdotes of his day in one long continuous letter to Blaine each night; each entry always ending with an entreaty for Blaine to forgive him.

********************************************************************************************************

It was a warm summer’s evening in mid-June when Kurt, together with Rachel and Jesse, entered the magnificent foyer of Madison Square Garden. Mercedes had secured them VIP passes to her concert and they were supposed to ‘ _meet and greet’_ the star herself in a specially designated area before the show.

“Who else will be there that we know?” asked Jesse curiously.

“Oh, everybody!” Rachel gushed.

Kurt looked at his roommate and his one eyebrow rose in reproach. “Rach – what does that even mean?” he asked teasingly.

“Well,” she shrugged, “I know Sam will be here because Mercedes has got him staying in the same hotel as her! … nudge, nudge, wink, wink, huh? Puck and Quinn flew in yesterday but Mike and Tina only arrived this morning.” Easily, Rachel provided the ‘intel’ she had managed to gather.

“Is Santana coming too,” asked Kurt, quietly, almost dreading Rachel’s answer.

“Ah, that I don’t know, Kurt. Mercedes seemed unsure when I spoke to her. Are you going to be okay, honey?” she asked kindly.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine,” Kurt assured his friend.

“Come on, then you two – this is the room,” announced a smiling Jesse, opening a glass door where just inside they showed their passes to the security guard before proceeding forward into the reception.

“Kurt!” squealed Mercedes as she raced across the room to throw her arms around her oldest friend.

“I… um … ‘Cedes … seriously, I need to breathe here, girl,” he gasped.

“Oh, Boo, I’m so glad to see you. Thank you for coming!”

“Are you crazy, Mercedes? I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. I’m so proud of you ‘Cedes! Box Office says the show’s sold out. You are amazing, Ms Jones,” he complimented his friend easily and with genuine happiness.

Mercedes’ wide grin disappeared for a moment and her face became serious. “Boo – I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to Lima for you in January, you know that right?”

“Look, you’ve told me several times on the phone how sorry you were not to be there, now can we please move on? I’m fine, really I am,” Kurt asserted and Mercedes smiled once more.

“Good,” she declared, “then go grab something sparkly to drink while I greet Rachel and Jesse here.”

Kurt made his way through the small crowd in the general direction of where Mercedes had pointed and when he reached the bar, he requested a glass of champagne.

“Kurt!”

A sharp voice behind him almost made him drop the glass he was holding and with sense of foreboding he turned around to face Nicholas Duvall. Beside the dark-haired, scowling man stood his boyfriend, Jeff who was looking apprehensively between his boyfriend and Kurt.

“Nick, Jeff - wow, I didn’t expect to see you guys here this evening.” In shocked surprise, Kurt stumbled over a weak greeting.

“Wasn’t it super kind of Ms Jones to mail us tickets?” Jeff gushed. “Kurt, she really is something awesome. I can’t wait to see her in concert.”

Kurt nodded. “Yeah, yeah, she sure is something,” he agreed, horribly uncomfortable but he stood his ground knowing that there was nothing they could say to him that he hadn’t flogged himself with before.

“So, how’ve you been, Kurt?” Jeff asked kindly. “We read that you’re back in the Broadway show and doing very well.”

Again Kurt nodded. “Thank you, yes, I’m much better now. It was rough for a while but I’m trying to do better each day.”

“I’m sorry about your dad, Kurt,” Jeff’s condolences were genuine and Kurt appreciated the sentiment.

“Thank you, Jeff,” he replied and then turned to look Nick squarely in the eye. “Look, Nick - ” he began but he was cut off sharply.

“No, actually Kurt, I’ve decided I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” Nick retorted, the anger barely suppressed under the niceties of civil conversation but Jeff put a hand on Nick’s arm, steadying him.

“Baby, just let him speak so we can all get passed this awkward moment and enjoy the evening.”

“Enjoy the evening?” spluttered Nick. “How am I supposed to enjoy the evening, Angel?” he asked.

“Look, I could go home if you want,” Kurt offered. “If that would make you feel better, but, please, Nick please, just tell me where he is. I desperately need to talk to him.”

Nick shook his head vehemently. “No - No way, Kurt. You broke him! You broke my best friend. Do you know, the last time he was _this_ broken was after the car accident and I was there for him. I was able to help him rebuild his life but this time … this time, I can’t help him if I don’t know where he is!”

Kurt was shocked at the revelation and appalled at the look of utter despair on Nick’s face.

“You don’t know where he is?” he repeated incredulously.

Jeff shook his head.

“He rang Nicky in tears way back in February to say he had resigned with immediate effect and was taking some time to heal. Nick and I tried to get to him that evening but he had, literally, walked away from school, packed a suitcase and boarded a plane. We couldn’t reach him on his cell and he didn’t respond to emails.”

Nick picked up the tale not seeing the point of keeping Kurt in the dark any longer. “Eventually, in March we got a postcard from Prague.”

“What did it say?” Kurt asked softly.

“Just that he was there and doing okay and we mustn’t worry,” replied Jeff.

“And then?” Kurt urged them on.

“Well, then every few weeks, we’d get a postcard from some obscure European town with mostly the same message: ‘I’m here, doing okay, don’t worry.’”

“And now … where’s he now?” Kurt held his breath.

“That’s just thing, see, we haven’t had a postcard in over a month. The last one was from Paris but that was early in May.”

Kurt nodded at Jeff, grateful to have been told so much. He turned to face Nick.

“Nick, I … I don’t know what to say. I’ve been in therapy. I know exactly what I did wrong and really I’m just praying for an opportunity to apologise.”

“No,” Nick shook his head, “when we _do_ find him, you need to stay as far away from Blaine as possible!”

“My Love,” Jeff stroked Nick’s arm, “that’s not your call to make. If we do find Blaine, then it will totally be up to him to say whether he wants to hear Kurt out or not. We’ll be on the side waiting to help, that’s all.”

Kurt smiled at the blonde, “Thank you, Jeff. For what it’s worth, I really am very sorry.”

Mercedes’ bright voice interrupted any further discussion as she welcomed them all once again and invited them to file through into the venue to take their seats.

***************************************************************************************************

July’s heat dripped hot and sticky over the city and the out-of-town tourists had arrived en-masse. Kurt had always loved New York in the summer but, this year, he was feeling rather claustrophobic. Despite phenomenal success on Broadway, he could sense his ennui was acute and he told Rachel about it that Monday morning during a shared breakfast. Having heard him try to explain what he was feeling, Rachel had a suggestion.

“We should totally check out that new bar on 8th Street. It’s under new management and is now simply called _George’s_. It got a really good write-up in this month’s _What’s On_ magazine.”

Kurt thought about it and then nodded his assent. “That sounds exactly what I need - a night out on the town. Yeah, let’s do it!”

The bar was tucked away a few doors down from the fire station on 8th street and Kurt was impressed with the classy, striking silver and black awning covering the entrance. Rachel, Jesse and Kurt entered to find the place already alive, buzzing with excited atmosphere. They made their way towards the bar where they placed their orders. While Jesse and Rachel chatted to each other, leaning over the bar counter to watch the talented bar tender concoct their cocktails, Kurt turned his back to the bar and surveyed the room. It was dark but not uncomfortably so, the soft, unobtrusive lighting being just enough to create a warm atmosphere. Most tables were filled with laughing, chatting patrons and further away from the bar a small crowd was dancing. Kurt thought he could make out the soft tinkle of a piano.

“Here you go,” Jesse nudged Kurt who accepted his drink gratefully.

“Do you see anywhere that’s free?” Rachel asked, looking around expectantly.

“Nah, certainly not this end of the room,” he replied. We may have to head further in.”

“I heard they don’t allow in more than their seating capacity,” commented Jesse.

“Great, so we should get a seat. Come on, then,” instructed Kurt, “follow me.”

Finally, they were able to secure a low table with three seats and Kurt watched as Rachel and Jesse settled in, but, just as he was placing his drink on the table to take his seat, a voice startled him so much that he spilt his drink.

“Thank you very much! I’m glad you enjoyed that. Now, here’s a Billy Joel classic which I think you may enjoy just as much,” and the pianist began to press out the opening bars to _Just the way you are_.

Rachel looked up at Kurt – perplexed that he had stumbled over his drink and not seemed to mind at all. Her friend was frozen in place, staring at the piano.

“Kurt? Kurt is something wrong?” When he didn’t answer, she got up to stand beside him. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Tears welled up in his eyes and without looking at her, he whispered, “Blaine. That’s Blaine.”

Rachel’s head swivelled around faster than a snake striking its prey. “Blaine?” she repeated, “That’s _your_ Blaine?”

Struck dumb, Kurt could only nod.

“Honey, I think you need to sit and then make very sure. Didn’t you tell me Nick thought Blaine was in Paris?”

She pushed Kurt down into the vacant seat but he didn’t hear her because his eyes were fixed on the handsome, curly-haired man playing the piano and smiling happily at the small crowd partying on the dance floor.

“Here, Kurt, drink up, buddy,” urged Jesse. “If it is your man, he’s sure to take a break soon and then you can make your move.”

“Make his move?” squealed Rachel, horrified at the idea. “What are you suggesting, Jesse?”

“Rachel, it’s all Kurt’s ever spoken about since April – how much he wants to apologise to Blaine. Well, here he is and so Kurt can do his thing.”

It was all very simple in Jesse’s mind.

“I really don’t think that this is either the time or the place,” Rachel was quick to disagree but Jesse smirked at her and jerked his head to the right indicating that Rachel should check out the action.

Kurt was walking forward slowly, as if in a trance, making a straight line for Blaine. The dancing bodies didn’t seem to deter him as he deftly moved them out of his way until he reached the piano.

Enthralled, Rachel and Jesse watched as Blaine looked up from the piano keyboard to find Kurt’s eyes on him and his smile faltered ever so slightly but then he seemed to regain his composure giving Kurt a blinding smile. Kurt remained motionless before the man, his right hand holding onto the piano to support himself as Blaine brought the beautiful song to a close staring straight at Kurt.

“ _I said I love you and that’s forever; And this I promise from my heart; I couldn’t love you any better; I love you just the way you are.”_

Rachel and Jesse were spellbound as the crowd in the bar erupted with applause and Blaine thanked them, dragging his eyes off Kurt momentarily to explain that he would be taking a short break but would return shortly.

Immediately the bar’s stereo kicked in with recorded music and the audience around the piano dispersed. Rachel held her breath and clutched at Jesse’s hand, as Blaine stood up from the piano, wiped his sweaty palms down the sides of his trousers and then, his eyes steady on Kurt’s, held a hand out to Kurt.

“Come on, Kurt! Come on,” coaxed Rachel softly under her breath.

She watched Kurt dip his head to look at Blaine’s outstretched hand and then very slowly he lifted his hand off the piano lid and placed it gently in Blaine’s. Rachel could see Blaine’s lips moving and then Kurt nodded once before Blaine led her friend away from the piano towards a side door behind a cordoned off curtained area.

Rachel was out of her seat in a flash but Jesse was quick to stop her. “No, Rachel, this is where we wait. It’s all on them now.”

 

Kurt felt sure his head was going to explode. So many emotions were swirling inside, so many feelings were bubbling to the surface – in fact, he was quite light-headed.

_Blaine!_

_Blaine is here!_

_Blaine is here in New York!_

Like a scene from one of his dreams, Blaine was holding Kurt’s hand and leading him down a small corridor not unlike the backstage area of Kurt’s theatre. If he had been in his right mind, Kurt might have commented on how neat and tidy the backstage area was compared to his. But he wasn’t, so he didn’t. Instead, he allowed Blaine to bring them both to a halt outside a closed wooden door with a name plate that read: **Blaine Anderson**.

Blaine opened the door and gestured for Kurt to enter before him. Kurt stepped passed the man and entered a spacious, comfortable dressing-room. Turning around, he found Blaine leaning against the closed door just staring at him. Kurt opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

Blaine smiled at him, his eyes twinkling with delight. “Before either of us says anything else, can I just say - it is _so_ good to see you, Kurt. I have missed you very much.”

“Blaine, I…” Kurt began, dragging his tongue off the roof of his mouth where it had gone into apparent hiding.

“Please, won’t you sit?” Blaine interrupted looking at his watch, “I’m afraid I can only steal five minutes away from my set.”

Kurt shook his head. “No, no I couldn’t sit. Look, Blaine, I …”

Kurt stopped speaking and fished his wallet out of his back pocket. Opening it quickly, he pulled out a couple of dog-eared sheets of fine, thin paper which were folded up several times. He unravelled them and Blaine was uncomfortably reminded of another occasion when Kurt did this and it hadn’t worked out so well for him.

“Kurt, really…” he began but Kurt held up a hand to stop him from speaking.

“No, Blaine, please understand? I wrote you this – this letter - months ago and I keep it with me – just praying for a chance to give it to you. Please, please, read it.”

He handed the two sheets of hand-written words over to Blaine who took them carefully.

“Please just read this and then, if you want - ” Kurt sucked in a deep breath, “If you want, you could ring me and we could talk.”

“Is this your number? Blaine asked cautiously, pointing to the digits at the bottom of the second page. “Will you answer if I ring, Kurt?”

Kurt nodded emphatically, the tears back in his eyes.

“Yes, Blaine, if you ring me after you’ve read this, I will answer.”

 


	23. Touch Down

  **Touch Down**

_**A score that occurs when a player in possession of the ball crosses the plane of the opponent's goal line.** _

 

With a soft, relaxed sigh, Kurt closed the October issue of the inflight magazine and abandoned it on his lap. A voice to his left spoke quietly so as not to wake the sleeping passenger beside Kurt.

“Would you like anything to drink, sir?” the pretty flight attendant asked politely but Kurt shook his head.

“No thanks, but do you think I could trouble you for a blanket for this one?” With a slight jerk of his head, he indicated the man beside him who had turned completely into Kurt’s side and was resting his curly-haired head on Kurt’s chest, his heavy breathing indicating to both Kurt and the air stewardess that he was fast asleep.

She agreed immediately and was soon back, laying the blanket softly over the man’s sleeping form, helping Kurt when he couldn’t manage with just the one free arm.

“Thank you,” murmured Kurt, graciously accepting the help.

The air stewardess smiled before commenting, clicking her tongue in sympathy, “He looks exhausted.”

“He is,” Kurt agreed. “It’s been a crazy busy few months for him, for us both. Well, it’s been a crazy year actually.”

She grinned widely at Kurt, nodding her head, “Well, he’s lucky to have you,” she decided and walked away to attend to other passengers in the Business Class section.

Kurt pulled Blaine closer to his side and shook his head. “No; I’m the lucky one,” he disagreed.

************************************************************************************

Four months earlier, Kurt had left his hand-written, heart-wrenching letter in Blaine’s hands, walked out of the dressing room, down the corridor and stepped back into the noise of the bar where he found Rachel almost jumping out of her skin in anticipation but he had simply said. “I’m going home.”

“We’ll come with you,” she immediately offered, her arms reaching out to embrace him but Kurt stayed her hand.

“No, Rachel, you and Jesse stay here; enjoy your evening. I just need to be alone right now. I’m okay, honest,” he was quick to reassure his friend. “It’s just – this is the biggest gamble of my life, right? The ball’s completely in his court now. Whatever decision he makes tonight, I will have to learn to live with. So right now, in this quiet eye of the storm, I need to be alone. I love you – see you two later.”

At home, Kurt took a long shower and then wrapped himself up in bed, armed with his notebook and pen and wrote to Blaine.

At midnight, he turned off his bedside light and, scooting down under the covers, he tried to sleep. At some point, he heard Rachel tiptoe in and settle herself in her own bed but sleep eluded him for the rest of the night and eventually, at around 5am he got up, dressed and went for a walk in the nearby park. His mind was a turmoil of endless possible future conversations with Blaine.

_If he says ‘this’, then I’ll say ‘that’ and if he wants to know ‘this’ then I’ll explain ‘that’._

The tumult was giving him a dull headache and getting him nowhere. Lydia’s advice had always been ‘to deal with what you can control not what you can’t’ and Kurt realised he simply had to wait – patiently - for Blaine to make a move _and it might not even happen today, not even tomorrow nor next week or even at all_ – he reminded himself. He didn’t deserve anything. He’d wished for an opportunity to apologise and he had been granted that last night so he should be grateful and really quite happy so now he could move on.

He bought some fresh pastries from the neighbourhood Bodega and entered the apartment a little after 6am and, whilst shutting the sliding door of the loft, the phone in his pocket began to ring. He threw the pastry box on the kitchen table and, hand shaking, withdrew the phone from his pocket. With trembling fingers, he slid back the green icon to accept the call from the ‘Unknown Number’.

“Hello” he whispered tentatively.

“Kurt,” Blaine’s voice came softly down the phone line, “You answered.”

“I said I would, Blaine,” Kurt replied but sat down in the nearest chair to steady his nerves.

“Thank you,” said Blaine, “Thank you for answering. It’s _so_ good to hear your voice; you’ve no idea.”

Kurt sucked in much-needed air deeply into his lungs. “It’s good to hear yours too, Blaine. I … I’ve missed you.” Kurt was timid – a new emotion for the Broadway star.

Blaine exhaled slowly. “Beautiful, I … I read your letter -”

There was a pause and Kurt held his breath; in fact, it seemed that the whole earth, the stars and the planets too, seemed to halt mid-orbit, anxious right along with Kurt for that brief moment that Baine paused.

“It’s … your letter is beautiful; Kurt, I don’t really know what to say except - it’s just _so_ beautiful! Thank you for writing it for me.”

“Blaine I ..” but Kurt stopped because there was nothing more he could add. He had to wait on Blaine.

“Kurt, I would like to see you – there are things to be said and definitely not on the phone. Can I meet you some time?” Blaine asked.

“This morning, maybe?” Kurt suggested, knowing that sooner would be better for his already frayed nerves.

“Argh,” Blaine groaned, “I really can’t at all today - I’ve got commitments that I just can’t get out of. As much as I would like to see you and speak to you, I just can’t cancel or even postpone this. I’m playing at _George’s_ tonight again but should be finished around ten – if that might work?”

“It’s my _Liam_ night tonight,” replied Kurt, “so I’ll be at the theatre until about then as well. Do you maybe want to meet up after the show?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s sounds great – I’ll swing by the theatre to collect you and we can find somewhere that’s quiet to talk,” agreed Blaine.

“Thank you, Blaine. It means a lot to me,” answered Kurt sincerely grateful that Blaine wanted to talk to him.

“You mean a lot to _me_ , Beautiful. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

*************************************************************************************

Kurt looked out of the airplane window into the cloudless sky and his mind returned to that night he performed on stage with the knowledge that Blaine was going to meet him afterward and they would finally talk. Burnard had noted his stellar performance that evening, remarking that whichever well Kurt was digging his performing skill from, he should patent it. Kurt just smiled demurely and rushed to remove his make-up.

Stepping out of the stage door much later, Kurt signed a few of the playbills handed to him by fans, before explaining that he needed to rush off when he saw Blaine standing at the corner of the block, a little way away from the theatre. Kurt hurried toward him.

“Hello Blaine,” he greeted softly, suddenly incredibly shy to be in Blaine’s presence again.

“Beautiful,” returned Blaine, the word falling easily from his mouth as he smiled and handed Kurt a single white rose which Kurt accepted graciously, the blush in his cheeks and the thump of his heart threatening to overwhelm him.

“Kurt, I live just a couple of blocks from here, a little closer to the park and I was wondering if you would mind us going back there? I … I couldn’t think of anywhere quiet to go to for us to talk.”

“You live in Manhattan?” Kurt couldn’t mask his surprise when Blaine shrugged and nodded his head.

“Yeah, um – it’s a long story and if you agree to come with me, I could tell you all about it?”

“Yes, yes, of course I’ll come with you, Blaine,” Kurt assured him.

“Jolly good,” exclaimed Blaine and, crooking his arm at the elbow, he offered an arm to Kurt who smiled brightly as he hooked his hand through and Blaine drew their bodies closer.

“How was your show tonight?” Blaine asked conversationally as they walked along.

“It was good, thanks. I always enjoy it very much,” Kurt replied simply, his mind still trying to catch up to the reality of walking in New York beside Blaine.

“You’ve been getting rave reviews, Kurt,” complimented Blaine but when Kurt looked at him in surprised, he laughed. “What? I’ve been following the Broadway blogs for ages!”

It turned out that Blaine lived in an exclusive residential building built in the block between Carnegie Hall and the entrance to the Park on 7th Street and to say that Kurt was impressed was an understatement. As they entered the building via an entry code which Blaine punched into the security panel, they were greeted by a smartly-livered doorman who greeted Blaine and enquired after his evening. Blaine introduced Kurt to Simon who summoned the elevator for the pair and pushed the button for the 14th floor.

“Seriously, Blaine? You live here?” Kurt couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer.

“It was left to me in my grandmother’s will,” he explained simply.

“Your grandmother passed away?” Kurt gasped. “I’m so sorry, Blaine.”

“Thanks, though condolences are hardly necessary - I really didn’t know her at all. She was my mother’s mother and they didn’t speak to each other for years, but it turns out she had this beautiful Manhattan apartment, the title deed of which now belongs to me, so yeah …um…” Blaine opened the front door to apartment 1404 and gestured for Kurt to enter. “Welcome to my home.”

Kurt walked in and was immediately transported. He walked directly into what was obviously the living room where two extra long sofas facing each other across the plush carpet, were separated by a long rectangular glass table. He stood still and gazed in wonder at the magnificent floor to ceiling windows. Outside in the dark night, the New York lights twinkled. Behind the one sofa stood a beautiful sleek black grand piano and still further down the room, Kurt spied a long glass dining room table with opulent overly-stuffed wing-back chairs.

“It’s beautiful” he sighed in appreciation.

“Well, most of it is still all my grandmother’s furniture but she’s bequeathed a lot of it to friends and other relatives so, in time, most of it will be gone and then, I can begin to think of what I’d like to do with the space because it doesn’t yet feel like home.”

“More like a hotel apartment?” offered Kurt.

“Exactly,” nodded Blaine, smiling. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, ever the considerate host.

“No, nothing for me,” Kurt replied although suddenly his throat seemed very dry as he remembered why they were here in this 14th floor luxurious apartment with stunning views of the city and the park. He turned to Blaine, slightly anxious.

“Blaine I – can we?”

Blaine read the panic signs and agreed quickly. “Yes, yes, of course, please sit, Kurt.”

Kurt looked around, unsure of where he should take a seat.

“Here on the sofa beside me, Beautiful,” Blaine took his hand and led him to the sofa where they sat - Kurt somewhat stiffly, his legs planted firmly on the floor, but Blaine settled comfortably on the sofa with his feet, now divest of restrictive shoes, tucked neatly beneath him and his whole body turned to face Kurt.

“Can I go first?” he asked quite seriously and Kurt nodded his head, his eyes flicking across Blaine’s face, searching for a hint of what was to come.

“Like I said on the phone, this morning, Beautiful - Thank you for writing that letter and it goes without saying that you have my complete forgiveness.”

“Blaine,” gasped Kurt, “how can you just …”

Blaine grabbed one of Kurt’s hands away from where it was twisting into the other on his thighs and brought the man’s knuckles to his lips for several sweet and gentle kisses before bringing Kurt’s hand, clasped tightly in his, to rest on his lap

“Beautiful – when I told you in December that I love you – I meant it. To me, that means that I love _everything_ about you; I love your incredible talent, your genuine compassion for others, your zest for life and yes, even your temper.”

Blaine paused to squeeze Kurt’s hand which he felt was trembling in his own.

“That I was hurt by your accusations and your actions, yes – I won’t deny that, but it takes a brave man to acknowledge his mistake and request forgiveness and you, my beautiful Kurt, are the bravest man I know.”

Kurt’s eyes had filled with tears but they were not spilling over just yet.

“Blaine, I …” But Blaine settled a single finger on Kurt’s lips to shush him.

“Wait one moment, Beautiful, I’m not finished. Kurt, I need _you_ to forgive _me,_ too.”

“Blaine, you did nothing wrong, nothing at all,” Kurt was quick to disagree but Blaine shook his head.

“Ah, but I think we both know that’s not true, Kurt because, in all honesty, it took me some while but I finally understand now that I _should_ have told you the news immediately I hung up the phone with Carole. No, I certainly didn’t _not_ tell you out of any selfish reason as you thought back then, but I _did_ make a decision that night which was not mine to make and for that, I am so sorry, my love.”

“Blaine,” Kurt was weeping openly by this time, “I just can’t go on without you anymore. I mean, I will if I must but I really don’t want to. I love you! I don’t deserve you but I love you so very much,” Kurt hiccupped his way through his confession and suddenly there was no space between them.

Blaine gathered the weeping man into his arms, sat him in his lap and held him close until the sobs subsided. And then he peppered Kurt’s face with light teasing kisses until Kurt reached his hands out to capture Blaine’s face and hold him still so Kurt’s mouth could settle on his.

Simultaneously, they both groaned as they rediscovered the sweet taste of their kisses. Teeth clashed and tongues swirled as their kiss deepened. Hands roamed, cupping jaws, pulling on shoulders, curling through hair.

Blaine pulled away from Kurt’s mouth with a soft, wet, popping sound to gasp, “Never want to be without you, Kurt!”

“Take me to bed, please Blaine,” Kurt begged, “Make me yours again.”

 ********************************************************************

Beside him now on the aeroplane, Blaine shifted in his comfortable Business Class seat and almost impossibly curled still closer to Kurt, his left arm tightening around his boyfriend’s body.

“Love you,” he mumbled in his sleepy voice, “love you so much.”

 **********************************************************************

Kurt rang Rachel the following morning to explain his absence from the loft and, having raided Blaine’s awesome kitchen for croissants and coffee, he returned to Blaine’s bed with a fully laden tray. They spent the morning alternating between talking and making love. In between bouts of urgent, passionate sex, Kurt learnt that Blaine had packed up and travelled around Europe for a while.

“It wasn’t just our fallout really,” he explained to Kurt. “I think I was desperately searching for _me_. The former-football-player-turned-coach who loves nothing more than to sing and play the piano - where in the world did I fit in, you know?”

“I can understand that. In Lima, I always felt like a fish out of water and yet in New York I know how to breathe,” Kurt concurred.

“Yeah, exactly!” Blaine smiled at his beautiful boyfriend who was lying deliciously naked beside him with just the top sheet covering his waist. Blaine dragged his thoughts reluctantly back to the conversation at hand.

“Anyway, I managed to find odd jobs in various cafes and bars but I couldn’t seem to settle in one place at all. I was just getting sort-of used to Paris when I inadvertently found the business card of a gentleman I ran into in January. I never did get a chance to tell you that I had spent New Year’s Day playing in a café near Washington Square Park and a guy there gave me his card. Anyhow, one day in Paris, I was clearing out my wallet when I came across his card again and on the spur of the moment I called him.”

“Who is he?” Kurt was intrigued.

“His name is Walter Cunningham and back in December he had just retired as a talent scout for a record company here in New York. Well, in May, my phone call to him from Paris set the ball in motion and one thing led to another and when I looked again, Grandmother dearest had left me this place, I had signed a deal to write and produce an album. Walter even found me my night job playing at the newly opened _George’s_ _Bar_. I’ve been in New York just over a month now.”

Kurt nodded thoughtfully, trying to take in all this new incredibly exciting information. “Wow! Blaine that’s … that’s just – wow!”

Blaine smiled, “I know right?”

“But Blaine, Nick and Jeff have been very worried about you. I think you should ring them,” Kurt admonished and Blaine smiled again, his eyes dancing with delight.

“I did! I did ring them - last night, Beautiful. After I read your letter, I rang Nick in tears to tell him I had found you.”

“Found me? But were you really looking, Blaine? It’s not as if I was lost – surely you knew you could always find me at the theatre,” Kurt quizzed.

“Yes, but I didn’t know how you felt, Beautiful and, to be honest, I kinda left it to the Fates. I decided that if you and I were meant to be, then I had to trust that it would happen and in the right time. In the meantime, I needed to focus on _me_ –the new me – the musician and that’s what I’ve been doing.”

Kurt nodded agreeing with Blaine’s course of action and his decision.

“My first single is supposed to be released at the end of next month,” Blaine volunteered hesitantly.

Kurt’s face broke into a wide grin. “It is? That’s awesome! Is it one of the songs I have on my CD?” he asked but Blaine shook his head.

“No – it’s a brand new one I wrote in Paris, for you, actually,” explained Blaine.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it called?”

“ _You’re the only one I’ll ever want_ ,” replied Blaine shyly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Oh my love, I am _so_ sorry,” Kurt’s eyes were filled with tears again.

“No, let’s make a pact here and now. No more ‘sorries’ about this. It’s over – done and dusted. I’ve forgiven you and you’ve forgiven me. I love you and you love me and this is a new start for us.”

The rest of Blaine’s declaration was swallowed up in a desperate kiss from Kurt which led to Blaine tugging away the sheet which hid Kurt’s body and allowed his hand to roam over the slender hip and waist of the gorgeous body writhing beside him in pleasure.

*************************************************************************************

Kurt looked up as the cabin crew announced, “Ten minutes to landing.” He was loathe to disturb Blaine who had been working incredibly long hours over the past few weeks as he and his team toiled to record all the songs they had selected for his first album. The Public Relations machine was in full swing preparing the public for the full album following the highly successful release of Blaine’s single back in August.

His eyes drifted again to the window and the clear sky as he recalled the first time he’d heard the song Blaine had written whilst sitting in a Parisian café thinking of Kurt. Blaine had played it for him in the apartment the night before the single was to be released. Kurt had been very glad that they were sitting snuggled together on the sofa – Kurt between Blaine’s legs with Blaine’s arms wrapped tightly around his chest – as they listened to the song playing through Blaine’s brand new Bose speakers.

 

_**Without you, these arms are** **empty**_

And yes, there’s a lot around to tempt me

_But, baby you’re the only one I’ll ever want_

_**Without you, these lips are lonely** _

And, others have tried to unlock my key

_But, baby, you’re the only one I’ll ever want_

_**Without you, this heart is broken** _

The awful pain inside has been woken

_‘Cos baby, you’re the only one I’ll want_

_**Without you, life has no meaning** _

I tell them, it’s no use intervening

_‘Cos baby you’re the only one I’ll ever want_

 

When the song came to an end, Kurt had resolutely clambered off the sofa, pulling Blaine gently up with him and dragged the man off to the master bedroom where he had done everything possible to fill those empty arms, console those lonely lips and heal that broken heart while Blaine had simply groaned and growled, thrashing in pleasure beneath Kurt’s expert touch.

Soon after that, Kurt had taken to heading to the Manhattan apartment after his shows and spending the night there with Blaine instead of returning to the loft in Bushwick. Many Sundays found him and Blaine relaxing on a picnic blanket in the middle of Central Park where, often, Jesse and Rachel joined them. It was perfect and Kurt was happy – blissfully so. He and Blaine had found a rhythm to their relationship that hadn’t been there before. Both were far more assured of who they were as themselves and thus, were able to bring far more stability and maturity to their relationship.

The only hitch they still faced was that Blaine wasn’t yet comfortable enough to see Kurt’s show again. Despite being invited on several occasions when he had enjoyed a rare free night off, Blaine just couldn’t bring himself to sit in the audience to watch Kurt perform knowing that the last time he’d done that, it had led to a catastrophic disaster. Kurt accepted this as one of the quirks of their relationship and didn’t badger Blaine to change his mind.

Although, every night that Blaine _did_ meet Kurt at the stage door, there was always a single white rose which he lovingly presented to his boyfriend until even the Broadway blogs were writing small articles about the romantic musician, Blaine Anderson, who was currently dating Broadway’s hottest star. And apparently that same ‘hot star’ was rumoured to be in talks with the writers and producers of another exciting, brand new musical as well, although no one was saying anything to anyone at all, yet.

 

“Cabin Crew, Seats for landing please.”

The captain’s loud, tinny voice broke through Blaine’s sleep and he blearily opened his eyes, blinking once or twice in the harsh overhead light of the aircraft cabin.

“Beautiful? We there?”

“Yeah, just about to land.” Kurt replied as Blaine sat up and tried to iron out the cricks in his neck. “It’s kind of Sam to offer to collect us from the airport.”

“Yeah – I thought so too ‘cause he must have loads on his plate at the moment what with the homecoming match tonight,” agreed Blaine.

“You excited or a little heart-sore?” Kurt asked gently not wanting to scratch any wounds.

“Not heart-sore at all,” replied Blaine with a quick kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek. “Truth be told, I can’t wait!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Beautiful. I’m gonna stand beside you this evening at Finn’s tree and hold your hand and, this year, I’m gonna tell Finn about finding my passion, about finding my place and about finding my soul mate whom I happen to love very _very_ much!”

Kurt giggled in joy. “You’re such a sap, Anderson!”

“But you love me?” Blaine’s eyes dipped into a stock puppy-dog pout which earned him more giggles from Kurt who nodded.

“But I love you, desperately, Blaine,” he affirmed.

Blaine nodded satisfied but then he cocked his head at Kurt. “Are you ready for this, Beautiful? I know there will be a lot of memories – good and bad – wrapped up in this trip to Lima but we’re strong right?”

“Together, Blaine – together we’re strong. Just promise me that you’ll hold my hand the whole weekend?” Kurt replied.

“Wouldn’t dream of letting go, Beautiful.”

*************************************************************************************

And Blaine kept his promise. Holding on tight to Kurt’s hand, he didn’t let go even when hugging the other members of Kurt’s former Glee club in greeting as they gathered around Finn’s tree yet again.

He held his boyfriend close to his side when Kurt poured out his heart to Finn, acknowledging his mistakes in front of his close friends and sharing his successes as well.

After they’d sung their tribute song again, the crowd began to disperse once more following Artie’s impassioned battle cry, “Bonfire Ya’ll!” and Kurt began to turn to follow but Blaine pulled him back, tugging on his hand.

“Kurt, could we … could we just take a minute or two here by ourselves?” he asked tentatively.

“You two coming?” called Santana, who had stopped briefly on the path and was looking back at the pair expectantly.

“Yeah, yeah!” called Blaine in her direction. “Just give us a minute alone would you, ‘Tana?”

“Sure thing, Hobbit!” and she swept the others away with her brusque instructions to “Move along!”

Blaine took Kurt’s gloved hand in his and using the thumb of his other hand, gently brushed away a tear track that had dried on Kurt’s cheek. Looking deeply into the eyes of his boyfriend, Kurt allowed himself to get lost in the honey warmth of those beloved orbs but then Blaine began to speak and that rich, strong voice demanded Kurt’s undivided attention just as it had done so over a year ago in the gym hall of their high school.

“Kurt, I .. I wanted the opportunity to tell you here – in Lima - here at Finn’s tree - that I am irrevocably in love with you.”

“I know, my love,” Kurt nodded and smiled lovingly at his handsome boyfriend.

“But Kurt, I want you to know this too: I’m done, this is _it_ for me – _you_ are it for me. This year through all our ups and downs, this one thing I have always known. I, Blaine Anderson, was put on this earth to love you, _only_ you, to hold you, to protect you and to keep you forever.”

Kurt’s eyes widened, surprised at the depth of the honest, ardent words being spoken.

“Blaine?”

His boyfriend reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a small box and Kurt gasped. Getting down on one knee, Blaine opened the box to reveal a gorgeous platinum band encrusted with three square diamonds.

“Kurt, my dearest love, my best friend, my only soul mate, would you marry me?”

Kurt squealed. He really did.

“Blaine! Yes! Oh yes – a thousand times, yes!”

Of course, by this stage, Kurt too, was on his knees in front of Blaine frantically pulling off the glove of his left hand. With a sweet kiss to Kurt’s finger, Blaine slipped the ring on and then took his fiancé in his arms to seal their promise with a blazingly passionate kiss.

Somewhere far behind them the homecoming crowd cheered the arrival of the football team. The two men stood up and dusted off their knees. Kurt replaced his glove somewhat reluctantly and walked arm in arm with Blaine towards the athletic field.

Walking on the narrow path, Kurt glanced at the smiling man beside him, the one to whom he had just promised his future. It dawned on him that love was very much like the game of football – intense, hard work, requiring a huge amount of effort but endlessly satisfying and immensely enjoyable.

 _Indeed_ , Kurt thought, _love is a rough and tumble game._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this story and chose to comment or to leave kudos - your kind encouragement has meant a lot to me.  
> The song Blaine writes in Paris for Kurt belongs solely to me and is " a work in progress."


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